ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


The 
Marble  House 

And  Other  Poems 

By 
Ellen  M.  Huntington  Gates 


G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons 

New  York   and   London 
Imfcfcerbocftet    press 
1921 


Copyright,  1921,  by 
Helen  Granville-Barker 

All  rights  reserved 
Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


PREFACE 

MY  mother  was  the  eleventh  child  of  William 
and  Elizabeth  Vincent  Huntington,  and  was 
born  in  the  town,  then  a  village,  of  Torrington, 
Connecticut. 

As  she  grew  old  her  mind,  as  always  happens 
with  old  people,  was  much  occupied  with  her 
childhood  and  early  youth.  After  she  was 
eighty  she  began  to  write  down  some  of  her 
earliest  memories : 

' '  We  were  very  patriotic  in  those  days.  A  t  home 
we  heard  so  much  talk  of  George  Washington  that 
he  seemed  like  a  demi-god,  and  we  used  to  weep 
when  we  heard  of  Lafayette's  visit  to  this  country. 
In  many  of  the  houses  of  our  town  there  were  old 
scarlet  coats,  with  gilt  buttons,  which  had  been 
taken  from  the  Hessians. 

"  These  made  a  gallant  show  on  Independence 
Day.  I  remember  that  one  was  spread  over  a  chair 
on  our  front  porch  and  that  the  whole  town  was  gay 
with  them." 

She  wrote,  too,  about  the  first  school  she  went 
to;  when  she  was  four  years  old: — "an  infant 
school  kept  by  Miss  Sybil  Eggleston.  Of  my 

iii 


1  o      , 


IV 


Preface 


education  in  that  school  I  can  only  recall  that  she 
taught  us  the  names  of  our  five  senses. 

"  We  stood  in  a  straight  row,  with  our  toes  on  a 
crack,  and  repeated  the  names  of  our  five  senses 
loudly  and  earnestly.  When  we  said  'feeling,'  we 
brought  our  right  hands  down  upon  our  left  hands 
with  great  force.  The  school-room  was  at  the  top  of 
a  tall  building,  probably  the  Town  Hall,  and  if  I 
stood  on  my  tip-toes  and  leaned  far  out  of  the  win 
dow  I  saw  the  tops  of  the  trees  where  birds  builded 
their  nests  and  sang  their  happy  songs.  Under 
the  trees  was  the  insect  world,  ants  and  grasshoppers, 
and  slow,  crawling  worms  went  back  and  forth  on 
their  various  errands,  and  their  world  was  much 
larger  than  they  knew,  or  than  we  ourselves  could 
even  dream." 

The  little  girl  of  four,  standing  on  tip-toe  and 
leaning  "far  out  of  the  window"  to  discover 
beauty  and  wonder  must  already  have  been  what 
my  Mother  remained  all  her  life.  For  it  was 
always  mystery  that  called  to  her  most  loudly; 
the  mystery  of  elemental  things :  fire,  light,  and 
air,  the  sea  and  the  clouds,  the  mystery  of  the 
puzzling,  alien  life  in  birds  and  beasts  and  plants. 
But,  far  beyond  these,  dominating,  indeed,  all 
her  poetic  thought,  was  the  mystery  of  death. 

In  her  deeper  self,  in  her  moments  of  inspi 
ration,  she  seemed  always  to  be  pausing  and 
lingering  at  the  entrance  of  that  Marble  House, 


Preface  v 

listening  wistfully  for  some  whisper  from  within 
it,  straining  her  eyes  to  see  through  its  shadows. 

She  was  of  a  generation  which  read  poets  to 
day  neglected,  but  which  derived  its  literary 
culture  from  older  and  nobler  sources;  from  the 
Old  Testament,  John  Milton,  Bunyan,  Addison, 
and  Pope. 

The  spirit  of  New  England,  its  reticence  in 
personal  emotion,  its  flaming  conscience, 
breathed  through  all  she  wrote.  In  her  daily  life 
she  was  fun-loving,  full  of  originality,  whimsical 
often,  but,  in  her  work,  she  belonged  to  her  race 
and  her  age,  and  so  seemed,  at  times,  to  be  like 
some  delicate  shell  reverberating  with  the  mighty 
rhythm  of  thoughts  remote  from  her  individual 
thought. 

When  she  was  in  her  tenth  year,  and  after  she 
had  moved,  with  her  mother,  to  Oneonta,  New 
York,  to  be  near  her  brothers,  Solon  and  Collis 
Huntington,  who  were  established  there,  she  wrote 
her  first  verses,  an  acrostic  on  ' '  Affection. ' '  She 
used,  laughing  heartily,  to  quote  the  first  lines : 

"  Affection  is  of  peerless  worth 
Fain  would  I  worship  at  its  hearth." 

But  I  think  she  was  prouder  of  her  early 
attempts  as  an  artist  when,  as  a  pupil  "at  Miss 
Lavinia  Herrick's  school"  she  was  taught  to 
embroider,  to  draw,  and  to  paint  in  water-colors. 


vi  Preface 

' '  We  painted  slowly  and  carefully,  and  our 
wonderful  pictures  of  cultivated  and  field  flowers 
were  the  pride  and  delight  of  our  homes. ' ' 

When  she  grew  to  be  a  young  woman  she  was 
sent  to  what  was  known  as  the  "Female  Semi 
nary"  at  Hamilton,  New  York,  and  used  to  tell 
how  she  left  one  morning  before  it  was  light — "  I 
wonder  that  I  was  allowed  to  do  so!" — and  by 
stage-coach,  as  there  were  no  railways  then  in 
that  section,  and  how  she  delightedly  recognized 
in  a  fellow-traveler,  her  old  friend,  Loomis 
Campbell  (how  quaintly  these  names  echo  now !) 
who  was  on  her  way  to  Madison  University,  also 
at  Hamilton. 

The  University  and  the  Seminary  furnished 
the  Society  of  Hamilton — "  Our  leisure  hours  were 
filled  with  parties  and  social  gatherings  in  the 
hospitable  homes  of  the  village,"  she  wrote.  "  The 
President  of  Madison  University  at  that  time  was 
Dr.  George  W.  Eaton,  and  at  his  beautiful  home, 
'Woodland  Heights,'  all  the  young  people  were 
frequently  entertained."  It  was  an  idyllic  time 
in  her  life — these  years  at  Hamilton.  She  had 
one  particularly  dear  and  haunting  memory  of  the 
trailing  rose  branches  that  Mrs.  Eaton  drew  in 
over  the  low  window-sills  to  adorn  her  drawing- 
room. 

Among  the  students  at  the  University  were  the 
two  brothers  Oliver  and  Edwin  Gates ;  the  latter, 
seven  or  eight  years  later  became  her  husband. 


Preface  vii 

While  she  was  still  at  school  her  first  poem 
"Your  Mission,"  was  printed  in  the  New  York 
Examiner  and  the  Cooperstown  Journal.  It  was 
widely  copied,  set  to  music,  and  sung  at  many 
concerts. 

Abraham  Lincoln  heard  it  sung  by  Philip 
Phillips  at  the  Congressional  Hall  in  Washington 
and  wrote  on  a  slip  of  paper  (long  carefully 
preserved)  "Ask  Mr.  Phillips  to  repeat  'Your 
Mission.'  Do  not  say  that  I  asked  for  it." 
This,  in  spite  of  the  ambiguousness  of  the  last 
half  of  the  message,  was  fame,  indeed,  for  a 
school-girl. 

The  poem  was  translated,  it  was  said,  into 
seven  languages,  but  its  author  used  to  protest, 
with  charming  humility,  "that  seems  hardly 
possible!" 

The  first  ten  or  twelve  years  of  her  married  life 
were  spent  in  Wisconsin,  and  there  she  watched 
the  State  troops  departing  for  the  Civil  War. 

But  the  great  tragedy  of  all  that  tragic  epoch 
must  have  been,  for  her,  the  murder  of  Lincoln, 
for  it  was  on  that  her  mind  dwelt,  most,  in  her 
memories,  and  that  which  inspired  the  one  poem 
she  wrote  of  the  War:  "  Lincoln  Has  Fallen." 

In  the  '70*3  she  returned  to  the  East  and  from 
then  until  her  death  her  home  was  either  in  the 
vicinity  of  New  York  or  in  New  York  itself. 

Her  married  life  was  long  and  of  unceasing 
affection,  she  had  many  devoted  friends  and, 


viii  Preface 

especially  in  her  old  age,  took  among  most  of  her 
kinsfolk  a  place  of  almost  consecrated  leadership ; 
but,  in  spite  of  all  those  human  ties,  her  inner 
mind,  I  think,  was  most  concerned  with  its 
visions. 

Much  of  the  talk  that  went  on  in  her  presence 
seemed,  after  a  while,  to  become  irksome  to 
her;  one  saw  her  sitting,  by  preference,  a  little 
apart  from  the  others,  with  her  eyes  closed  and  a 
look  of  serene  detachment  on  her  beautifully  cut 
face. 

It  was  at  such  moments,  perhaps,  that  her 
fancies  about  Light  and  Dark,  about  Time  and 
Space  and  Eternity  came  to  her. 

Her  short-sightedness,  I  think,  added  to  the 
sense  of  strangeness  which  she  found  in  many 
of  the  things  in  nature.  As  she  saw  them  only 
cloudily  she  became  more  concerned  with  their 
inner  meanings  than  with  their  outer  aspects. 

Adventure,  quests  among  mountain-peaks, 
wide  seas,  and  unimagined  lands  called  to  her 
until  the  last. 

When  she  was  eighty-four  she  said  in  a  letter : 

"/  am  perfectly  well  and  strong;  I  could  go 
anywhere,  I  could  go  to  the  Himalayas.'1 

And  with  this  same  eager  courage  she  faced 
death. 

Though,  at  the  end,  it  came  to  her  swiftly  and 
in  all  unconsciousness  and  peace,  she  had  written 
only  a  short  time  before  it : 


Preface  ix 

"My  slender  shadow  is  already  lengthening 
toward  the  West.  I  am  neither  surprised,  nor 
grieved,  for  I  know  that,  beyond  that  crimson  light, 
is  the  country  which  I  desire  to  see." 

HELEN  GRANVILLE-BARKER. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  LIGHT          .......        3 

THE  DARK 7 

DETACHMENT       .         .         .         .         .         .         .10 

THE  CRY  OF  THE  EARTHLY 1 1 

THE  BODY  TO  THE  SOUL 12 

THE  CLAIMANTS 16 

THE  ARTIST  AND  HIS  ART      .         .         .         .  17 

TO-MORROW         .         .         .         .         .         .         .19 

A  PASSING  SOUL  .         .         .         ...         .         .20 

A  NAME 22 

SALVAGE 23 

A  LITTLE  BIRD    .......       24 

POVERTY     ........       25 

THE  POTTER  AND  THE  CLAY  ....       26 

PRESCIENCE         .......       28 

DEATH        ........       29 

THE  CUP  OF  YOUTH 30 

COURTESY  .         .         .         .         .         .         .31 

PAIN 32 

SINCERITY  ........       33 

xi 


xii  Contents 

PAGE 

A  GREAT  MAN    . 34 

JOY .35 

OUT  OF  THE  DUSK       .         .         .         .         .  .36 

MY  ROSE    .         .         .•'•;'•<•'.        .         .  .38 

THE  LAST  DAYS  .         .         .                 .         .  -4° 

How  WILT  THOU  Go?            .         .         .         .  .      41 

THE  LAST  OPINION       .         .         .         .         .  ,      42 

THE  CHILDREN'S  COUNTRY   ...  .43 

THE  OLD  DAGUERREOTYPE    .         ..        .         .  .      45 

MY  SHADOW *      47 

"  WHATEVER  TEARS  MINE  EYES  MAY  WEEP  "  .      49 

A  STATUE   ......  -5° 

OTHERS .  52 

WE  LOVE  BUT  FEW      ....  .53 
IDLENESS    ...„,...       55 

ROOM          .  57 

THE  LAST  MEETING     .         .         .         .         . .  .       58 

THE  TREASURES  OF  KURIUM         .         ..        .  .      60 

"  THROUGH  A  GLASS,  DARKLY  "      .         .        .  .      62 

THE  PRAYERS      .         ...  .64 

HAUNTED    .         .         .         .         .         .  -65 

ON  CHRISTMAS  DAY     .        .         .         .         .  .66 

"I  AM  OLD,"  SAID  THE  EARTH        .         .         .  .68 

SLEEP  SWEET      .         .  -69 

THE  BUTTERFLIES                 .         .         .         .  -7° 


Contents 


Xlll 


PAGE 

SUNSET       ........  72 

FOR  WEAL  OR  WOE 74 

Two  DREAMS 76 

BEYOND      ........  78 

AFTER  THE  STORM 79 

THE  YELLOW  ROSE 80 

LONELINESS         .         .         .         .         .         .         .81 

A  LITTLE  LOVE 82 

THIS  ONLY 83 

UNSATISFIED        .......  84 

DEAR  HOPE  OF  MINE 85 

A  NEW  GUEST 86 

"LEST  YE  BE  JUDGED" 87 

JOY    .                  88 

A  LIE 89 

A  PRAYER  FOR  HELP 91 

A  SOUL 93 

AT  LAST 94 

A  VOICE      ........  95 

A  TREE 96 

To  THE  UNBORN  PEOPLES     .....  97 
THE  PEACEMAKERS      .         .         .         .         .         .100 

O  HELEN,  HELEN  DEAR! 102 

A  SONG  OF  VICTORY 104 

OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS    .  106 


xiv  Contents 

PAGE 

ETERNITY   .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .     107 

Two  HOUSES       .         .         .        ..         .         .         .     109 

PERSONALITY      ..         .        ..        ..        ..         .         .     in 

COME,  SWEETHEART,  COME  .      -...         .         .         .     113 

"TRACE  THOU  THE  PATH"     .         .         .         .  115 

IN  DARKENED  HOUSE  .         .         .         .         .116 

A  NEW  PRAYER  .         .         .        ..   ,  •.  •      .     118 

AFTER  DEATH     .         .         .         .         .         .         .119 

A  DRIVE  AT  NICE 121 

A  GLEAM  OF  CRIMSON  .         .         .         .         .     123 

THE  BARS  OF  FATE      ...         .         .         .         .     125 

LITTLE  PEOPLE    .......     127 

LOVE  AND  HATE  .         ..  .         .         .         .     129 

LOVERS       .         .         ...         .         .         .130 

THE  EAGLE'S  BROOD 131 

FAREWELL  .         ....         .         .         .         .     132 

THE  GREAT  WHEEL     .         .         .         .         .         .133 

APART         ........     134 

IN  THE  FOG         .         .         .....     135 

GIFTS         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .136 

ILLUSIONS  .         .         .         .  .         .         .     137 

PERSONAL  DESIRES      .        .......     138 

STRENGTH  ...         ,         .         .         .         .     141 

THE  SEA     .         .        ..        ....         .         .         .     142 

REMEMBERED  MIRTH    .        ,.        ..         .         .         .144 


Contents 


xv 


PAGE 

RENUNCIATION I45 

MYSELF I46 

MAN  AND  THE  SUN I47 

THE  VOID I49 

WHEN  I5O 

THE  WAY I5I 

LOSSES        .  .         .  153 

THE  MARBLE  HOUSE    .         .         .         .  •  154 

RECOGNITION I59 

AT  NOONDAY       ....  !6i 

SEPTEMBER  THIRTIETH !63 

A  STORM  AT  NIGHT       ...  j66 

LITTLE  Miss  FANNY     ....  !68 
BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS 


.     171 
ANNUALS  AND  ACORNS 


YOUR  MISSION I73 


I75 

THE  GRAPES  OF  ESCHOL I77 

BEAUTIFUL  HANDS I79 

MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE        ...  181 

MY  CHILD  .  To, 

103 

"LINCOLN  HAS  FALLEN!" !85 

Is  YOUR  LAMP  BURNING? Xg7 

SOMEBODY'S  WORKING  FOR  SOMEBODY    .  188 

"  THE  MISTLETOE  BOUGH " j89 


THE  MARBLE  HOUSE 


THE   LIGHT 

Stand  up,  stand  up,  behold  the  light ! 
I  come,  the  long  belated  one. 
The  curtains  of  the  dark  are  rent, 
Uprises  sea  and  continent, 
And  plain  across  astonished  skies 
On  endless  roads  my  chariot  flies. 
On  worlds  that  widen  evermore 
God's  own  eternal  light  shall  pour. 

My  sister  Darkness  sat  alone, 
Unmoved,  unconscious,  still  as  stone, 
With  naught  to  take  and  naught  to  lose ; 
In  awful  cold,  the  slime  and  ooze 
Sucked  softly  and  no  foolish  fears 
Disturbed  the  peace  of  hemispheres. 

And  there  were  sapphires  bright  and  blue, 
And  shapeless  diamonds  without  hue, 
And  there  was  never  song  nor  word, 
The  under  earth  was  still  unstirred 
'Til  suddenly  my  rays  were  flung 
Across  a  world  new-made  and  young. 
I  touched  the  depths  that  hold  the  gold, 
In  deepest  mines  I  backward  rolled. 
3 


Light 


The  awful  black  that  filled  the  space 
Wherein  my  living  fires  should  race. 

First  came  the  rocks  and  one  by  one 
They  formed  the  earth's  great  skeleton. 
The  undivided  sea  and  land 
Lay  motionless,  no  human  hand 
Had  flung  a  seed  in  furrows  deep, 
There  were  no  springs  to  downward  leap, 
No  winds  across  the  earth  to  sweep. 
In  darkest  depths  were  slabs  of  jade 
And  whitest  marble,  slowly  laid 
And  kept  for  monuments  to  be 
When  God  should  separate  the  sea 
From  the  dry  land,  when  Time  should  be. 

How  old  am  I  ?     God  only  knows  ; 

Far  up  among  unmelted  snows 

My  beams  came  down  like  ponderous  blows. 

The  shrieking  ice  before  me  fled 

And  named  my  name  to  quick  and  dead. 

I  said  to  scented  spice  and  wood, 

"  Come  forth  and  end  earth's  solitude.  " 

Not  yet  from  heavenly  height  had  come 

The  loud  clear  word  that  rang  as  far 

As  God's  unnumbered  aeons  are. 

The  senseless  worm  that  slowly  crawls 
'Neath  roots  of  trees  and  crumbling  walls 
And  gnaws,  the  roots  of  roses  fair 
Must  welcome  give  ;  my  rays  are  there 


The  Light 

As  on  the  bones  of  mastodons. 
Impartial,  glorious,  I  can  tell 
Where  walk  the  feet  of  Rafael. 
On  earth  or  sea  or  depth  or  height 
There's  nothing  half  so  swift  as  light. 

My  rays  fell  down  on  Sinai  old 
When  all  the  mountain  was  ablaze 
And  God's  great  glory  on  it  shone, 
When  Moses  talked  with  God  alone. 

Where  dark  monsoons  and  mistrals  cry 

As  summoned  by  a  trumpet  call 

Into  the  pockets  of  the  sky 

I  fling  myself,  I  make  no  cry. 

I  feel  no  sense  of  wrong  or  right, 

All  passionless  and  pale  the  light 

That  has  no  soul  but  simply  came 

When  far  beyond  all  suns  aflame 

The  unseen  forces  named  my  name. 

Wherever  human  races  are 

I  wrap  around  them  fold  on  fold; 

They  feel  no  weight  of  band  or  bar, 

They  laugh  and  weep,  they  sing  and  cheer 

In  God's  unnoticed  atmosphere. 

I,  I  am  but  a  thought  of  God, 

A  shining  mite  when  time  was  young, 

A  swift  and  radiant  energy. 

My  sparks  across  His  world  I  flung. 

No  mortal  man  may  measure  me 


The  Light 

Nor  weigh  me  in  his  shaking  scales. 
Should  any  say,  ''How  long,  O  sun, 
Before  thy  wondrous  race  is  done?" 
I  cannot  tell,  I  may  go  far 
As  God's  most  high  archangels  are. 

They  watch  me  well,  for  well  they  know 
That  unextinguished  I  shall  glow, 
For  long  as  God's  own  love  shall  be 
Must  heaven  and  earth  have  need  of  me. 

I  am  the  light  that  fills  the  space 
Unoccupied,  I  know  the  seas 
Where  clouds  like  frightened  creatures  race. 
Shall  I  be  one  when  Time  is  done, 
When  at  the  last  great  legions  come? 
Shall  I  be  joined  with  larger  light 
And  with  all  earthly  honors  come 
When  God's  own  chariot  swings  in  sight? 


THE   DARK 

I  am  the  Dark,  the  ageless  one; 
Before  the  days  and  years  begun, 
I  hovered,  formless,  silent,  cold, 
And  filled  the  void.     No  page  unrolled 
Makes  mention  of  my  timeless  reign; 
No  rock  on  mountain-top  or  plain, 
By  scar  or  symbol  now  can  tell 
The  secrets  that  I  know  so  well. 

I  am  the  Dark,  the  first  to  be; 

My  own  beginning  baffles  me. 

I  seemed  a  thing  apart,  forgot, 

Which  was — because  the  Light  was  not. 

I  dwelt  with  Chaos;  place  I  kept 

As  atom  unto  atom  crept, 

Till  Order  stood,  with  sinews  set, 

And  law  with  law  like  brothers  met. 

I  am  the  Dark,  for  still  I  stay, 
With  half  my  kingdom  wrenched  away. 
There  came  an  hour  when  all  the  black, 
A  filmy  screen,  was  folded  back. 
Above  me,  through  me,  everywhere, 
Were  scarlet  streaks  and  golden  glare; 
7 


8  The  Dark 

And  mighty  winds  began  to  blow 
The  trailing  mist- wreaths  to  and  fro. 

I  am  the  Dark.     The  eye  that  sees 
The  midnight  moons  and  Pleiades 
Must  wait  for  me.     I  claim  the  sky 
To  show  the  splendors  swinging  high 
In  space  so  deep,  and  wide  and  black 
That  thought  itself  comes  trembling  back. 
The  Sun  may  show  the  sea  and  sod, 
But  I— the  far-off  fields  of  God! 

I  am  the  Dark.     My  paths  I  keep; 
No  hour  too  soon  the  light  may  creep 
Above  the  hills,  no  moment  late 
The  Sun  may  reach  the  western  gate. 
The  shadows  are  my  own;  their  wings 
They  spread  above  all  breathing  things 
Till  joy  and  pain,  and  more  and  less, 
Are  one  in  sleep's  unconsciousness. 

I  am  the  Dark.     The  under-world, 
With  soundless  rivers  onward  whirled, 
Is  mine  alone ;  and  mine  the  lakes 
O'er  which  the  morning  never  breaks. 
I  dwell  in  caverns,  vast,  unknown, 
Whose  walls  are  wrought  from  primal  stone ; 
There  Silence,  Death,  and  I  can  wait — 
Creation's  grim  triumvirate ! 


The  Dark 

I  am  the  Dark,  and  forth  and  back, 
As  God's  own  servant,  robed  in  black, 
I  go  and  come.     His  dead  I  keep 
Within  my  chambers  while  they  sleep. 
Who  knows  my  doom?     Perhaps,  at  last, 
I  may  be  ended,  outward  cast 
From  all  that  is,  my  deepest  night 
Invaded  by  resistless  light ! 


DETACHMENT 

Be  silent!     Let  them  rest; 
Why  make  an  endless  quest 

For  all  they  said  and  did? 
Why  drag  into  the  light 
Their  moods  of  black  and  white, 

These,  with  their  faces  hid? 

Bind,  if  you  will,  in  gold, 
The  tales  their  fancies  told; 

With  wonder  breathe  their  names ; 
But  always,  from  their  art, 
Leave  them  in  peace,  apart, 

As  from  the  ash  the  flames. 


10 


THE   CRY   OF   THE   EARTHLY 

Take  me  back,  ye  elements, 

Take  me.     Let  me  be 
One  with  isle  and  continent, 

Air  and  fire  and  sea. 

Wide  a  bridge  of  light  is  laid 
Down  to  earth  and  back; 

Let  a  path  for  me  be  made 
Up  its  glittering  track. 

Call  to  me,  ye  elements; 

Break  the  band  and  bar; 
Lure  me  from  the  lonesome  tents 

Where  the  breathless  are. 

Fling  my  atoms  to  and  fro ; 

All  their  ways  control. 
Sometime,  somewhere,  let  me  know 

Starting-place  and  goal. 


ii 


THE   BODY  TO  THE   SOUL 

Said  the  body  to  the  soul : 
You  are  Master,  you  control; 
Viewless,  coming  from  afar, 
Mystery  to  yourself  you  are. 

I,  of  earthly  atoms  made, 
Stand  erect,  am  not  afraid; 
Must  forever,  as  I  run, 
Cast  a  shadow  in  the  sun. 

All  the  worlds  are  turning  round, 
We  are  strangers,  outward  bound; 
Down  the  roads  we  do  not  know 
With  our  orders  sealed  we  go. 

You  are  awful  in  your  might ; 
Swift  and  strong,  you  feel  delight 
In  the  movement  of  the  years, 
In  the  splendor  of  the  spheres. 

Strange  companionship  is  ours, 
Separate  lives  and  mingled  powers; 
You  will  conquer  time  and  death — 
In  my  nostrils  is  my  breath. 

12 


The  Body  to  the  Soul  13 

Can  you  tell  me  when  we  met  ? 

Know  you  where  our  bounds  are  set  ? 

Can  you  see  the  certain  line 

Where  we  whisper  "mine"  and  "thine"? 

I,  your  comrade  made  of  clay, 
Uncomplaining  go  or  stay; 
Kiss  your  sceptre,  fear  your  frown, 
Own  your  right  to  wear  the  crown. 

I  have  fled  at  your  command 
O'er  the  burning  wastes  of  sand: 
Heard  the  icebergs  grind  and  groan 
In  the  lonesome  Arctic  Zone; 

Plunged  for  you  beneath  the  waves; 
Faced  the  wild  beasts  in  their  caves ; 
Fought  your  causes  on  the  fields 
Where  the  foeman  never  yields. 

I  have  wasted  'neath  the  strain 

Of  your  unacknowledged  pain; 

If  dishonor  touched  your  name, 

Cheek  and  forehead  flushed  with  shame. 

When  you  conquered  grief  or  wrong, 

I  'have  sung  the  victor's  song; 

In  your  shining,  love-lit  hours 

I  have  wreathed  myself  with  flowers. 


The  Body  to  the  Soul 

Now  more  swiftly  drop  the  sands 
Through  the  hour-glass  in  my  hands, 
And  more  oft  I  hear  you  say 
I  am  but  the  hindering  clay. 

I  arraign  you,  Sovereign  Soul ; 
I,  the  slave  whom  you  control, 
Face  you  boldly ;  you  have  done 
Scarce  your  part  beneath  the  sun. 

He  who  made  you  made  me  too ; 
In  my  face  His  breath  He  blew; 
In  my  veins,  with  art  divine, 
Mixed  the  blood  as  red  as  wine. 

Since  His  hands  have  fashioned  me, 
I  must  unforgotten  be; 
If  you  cause  me  needless  pain, 
He  will  hear  His  dust  complain. 

Restless,  wayward  as  the  wind, 
You  have  suffered,  you  have  sinned, 
Urged  me  onward  in  your  pride, 
Beauty  fleeing,  rest  denied. 

Oft  my  lips  are  parched  with  thirst, 
While  you  give  me  drink  accurst; 
Oft  I  starve  for  bread  to  eat, 
While  you  burn  the  fields  of  wheat. 


The  Body  to  the  Soul  15 

Through  his  throne-room,  may  the  King 
Send  his  soldiers  rioting? 
While  the  workmen  humbly  toil, 
Should  the  priest  the  temple  spoil  ? 

Sovereign  Spirit,  back  I  throw 
Blame  and  failure;  I  shall  go 
Unaffrighted  to  my  place, 
Undishonored  by  my  race. 

You  are  lonesome,  homesick,  tost ; 
You  have  learned  what  life  can  cost ; 
Leaping  upward  like  a  flame, 
You  will  vanish  whence  you  came. 

Through  my  fibers  I  shall  feel 
New  sensations;  I  shall  reel, 
Drooping  earthward,  be  a  part 
Of  old  Nature's  peaceful  heart. 

Soul  of  mine,  if  e'er  you  pass 
Lake  of  heaven,  as  smooth  as  glass; 
Bend  above  it,  you  may  see 
Some  transfigured  type  of  me ! 


THE   CLAIMANTS 

A  bee  in  the  heart  of  a  rose 

May  flutter  its  wings, 
But  nothing  it  guesses  or  knows 

Of  beautiful  things. 

Should  I  ask  of  the  bee,  "Are  they  fair, 
The  roses  that  swing  in  the  air?" 
It  would  say,  "They  are  suitable  meat 
For  earth's  little  toilers  to  eat." 

On  outermost  leaf  of  a  rose, 

As  pausing  in  flight, 
A  butterfly  rests,  and  it  glo  ws 

Like  opals  at  night. 

Should  I  whisper,  "Thou  gem  of  the  air, 
For  whom  are  the  roses  so  fair?" 
It  would  tell  me  they  fell  from  the  sky, 
God's  gift  to  his  gay  butterfly ! 

A  worm,  at  the  root  of  a  rose, 

Gnaws  on  in  the  dark; 
It  sees  not  the  way  that  it  goes, 

It  hears  not  the  lark. 
Should  I  lean  from  my  place  in  the  tower 
To  question  the  worm  of  the  flower, 
It  would  answer,  "The  rose-tree  is  made 
That  worms  may  live  under  the  shade." 
16 


THE   ARTIST   AND   HIS   ART 

Well  the  artist  loves  his  art, 
Hides  it  deep  within  his  heart; 
Patient  with  his  changeful  moods, 
It  pervades  his  solitudes. 

If  he  be  not  swift  to  go 
Where  the  bugles  loudest  blow, 
In  his  dream  or  vision  vast, 
He  will  build  the  things  that  last. 

He  must  lure  from  wood  and  stone 
Glorious  forms  to  face  his  own ; 
Somehow,  with  a  simple  pen, 
Write  the  songs  that  gladden  men. 

He  will  capture  fleeting  shapes; 
Show  the  tree  the  tempest  shakes ; 
Paint  the  sacred  thought  that  lies 
In  the  depth  of  human  eyes. 

He  can  make  the  cities  fair, 
Lift  cathedrals  in  the  air; 
Where  the  arches  highest  spring, 
Send  his  music  thundering. 
t  17 


1 8  The  Artist  and  His  Art 

Yet  within  the  artist's  breast 
Shall  be  longing,  vague  unrest; 
Form  and  color,  swift  as  light, 
Will  evade  him  in  their  flight. 

Sometimes,  even  with  his  own, 
He  shall  dwell  apart,  alone; 
Dearest  friend  may  fail  to  guess 
Half  his  joy  or  loneliness. 

Hope  may  falter,  Love  may  die, 
Fame  may  cease  to  signify ; 
But  his  art  will  always  be 
Comrade,  Guide,  good  company. 


TO-MORROW 

To-morrow,  to-morrow,  you  insolent  shadow, 
You  torture  and  tease  me  and  strike  at    my 
soul; 

But  I  shall  go  forward  and  leave  you  behind  me, 
A  ghost  unremembered  when  I'm  at  the  goal. 


A   PASSING  SOUL 

I  pray  you,  pause;  awhile  forget 
The  trifling  things  of  every  day ; 

For  here,  as  moonlight  lingers  yet, 
A  Soul  is  passing  on  its  way. 

Still  toils  the  heart,  a  faithful  thing 

That  questioned  not  nor  asked  for  ease; 

But  now  it  tires;  at  life's  deep  spring 
The  crimson  currents  fail  and  freeze. 

The  eyes  that  answered  ours  so  long 

Can  see  us  not — we  drift  away 
Like  summer  clouds,  a  transient  throng 

Of  shapes  they  looked  on  yesterday. 

Thou  passing  Soul,  so  close  the  clasp 
Of  vibrant  nerve  and  surging  blood ; 

'Tis  hard  to  go,  to  reach  and  grasp, 
In  blinding  dark,  the  hand  of  God. 

What  countless  cords  must  broken  be, 
What  strange  adjustments  must  be  made, 

Before  the  prisoned  soul  is  free 
From  earth's  hard  rule  and  long  parade! 
20 


A  Passing  Soul  21 

New  thought  invades  the  darkening  brain, 
The  lips  are  stiffening  with  a  smile; 

No  more  the  doubt  or  fear  or  pain 
Of  time's  tempestuous  little-while. 

Ah,  look !  the  face  is  changing  so, 
It  seems  a  stranger's,  even  now; 

A  carven  face,  as  cold  as  snow : 
Before  its  majesty  we  bow! 


A   NAME 

What  if  some  night  as  you  walked  alone, 

Where  waves  crept  up  to  a  moonlit  shore, 
There  fell  at  your  feet  a  strange,  white  stone, 
And  the  name  of  a  friend  was  writ  thereon — 
The  name,  and  nothing  more  ? 

And  what  if  the  friend  were  worlds  away, 

The  name  unspoken  and  half  forgot — 
The  friend  you  loved  in  a  distant  day, 
Whose  hand,  at  home,  in  your  fingers  lay 
When  morn  of  the  midnight  whispered  not  ? 

And  what  if  the  stone,  unearthly  bright, 

Were  quivering  as  with  prisoned  flame; 
And  your  heart  leapt  up  with  a  new  delight, 
And  walls  of  paradise  rose  in  sight, 
As  you  kissed  the  dear  old  name? 


22 


SALVAGE 

Now  from  the  wreckage  I  arise 

And  free  my  eyes  from  brine, 
And  search  the  shore  that  near  me  lies 

For  stores  that  still  are  mine. 
The  seas  that  sucked  the  vessels  down, 

With  all  their  shining  freight, 
I  still  defy.  They  shall  not  drown 

My  soul's  untouched  estate ! 


A   LITTLE   BIRD 

I  know  a  little  bird  that  sings 
Its  anthem  from  a  slender  tower, 

Then  from  a  cedar  bough  it  swings 
And  seems  as  fragile  as  a  flower. 

I  long  to  hold  it  in  my  hand 
And  tell  it  of  my  passing  days; 

I  wish  to  make  it  understand 
How  much  I  love  its  little  ways. 

But  ah!  the  bird  is  wondrous  wise; 

It  sits  superior  in  its  place 
Till  something  calls  it,  and  it  flies 

And  flings  its  shadow  in  my  face. 

Up !  up  it  goes !  an  atom  fine 

That  knows  the  secrets  of  the  Blue, 

And  meets  with  no  restraining  line 
Among  the  clouds  it  passes  through. 

What  thing  is  this  that  God  has  made 
And  set  between  the  earth  and  sky, 

So  blithe  and  small,  yet  unafraid 
Among  His  thunderbolts  to  fly? 
24 


POVERTY 

You  shall  have  love — your  share  of  it; 

And  honor,  too,  may  be  your  own; 
And  gold  perhaps,  and  care  of  it; 

Yet  shall  you  whisper,  when  alone : 

Whatever  heart  may  envy  me, 

I  am  as  poor  as  I  can  be. 


THE   POTTER  AND  THE   CLAY 

Thou,  Thou  art  the  Potter,  and  we  are  the  Clay, 
And  morning  and  evening,  and  day  after  day 
Thou  turnest  Thy  wheel,  and  our  substance  is 

wrought 
Into  form  of  Thy  will,  into  shape  of  Thy  thought. 

Thou,   Thou  art  the  Potter,   the  wheel  turns 

around, 
Thine  eyes  do  not  leave  it.     Our  atoms  are 

ground 

Fine,  fine  in  Thy  mills.     O  the  pain  and  the  cost ! 
Thou  knowest  their  number;  no  one  shall  be 

lost. 

Should  Clay  to  the  Potter  make  answer  and  say, 
"Now  what   dost  Thou    fashion?"   Thy  hand 

would  not  stay. 

Untiring,  resistless,  without  any  sound, 
True,  true  to  its  Master,  the  wheel  would  go 

round. 

How  plastic  are  we  as  we  lie  in  Thy  hands; 
Who,  who  like  the  Potter  the  Clay  understands? 
Thy  ways  are  a  wonder,  but  oft,  as  a  spark, 
Some  hint  of  Thy  meaning  shines  out  in  the  dark. 
26 


The  Potter  and  the  Clay  27 

What  portion  is  this  for  the  sensitive  clay ! 
To  be  beaten  and  molded  from  day  unto  day, 
To  answer  not,  question  not,  just  to  be  still, 
And  know  Thou  art  shaping  us  unto  Thy  will. 

This,  this  may  we  plead  with  Thee,  workman 

divine : 
Press  deep  in  our  substance  some  symbol  of 

Thine, 

Thy  name  or  Thy  image,  and  let  it  be  shown 
That  Thou  wilt  acknowledge  the  work  as  Thine 

own. 


PRESCIENCE 

Some  there  are — we  know  their  names — 

On  whom  Nature  sets  her  seals, 
Moves  them  in  her  mighty  games, 

Somehow  to  their  sense  reveals 
Secrets  that  no  searcher  finds; 

In  their  hands  she  lays  a  thread 
That  forever  winds  and  winds, 

Underground  and  overhead. 

These  are  they  who  feel  the  whir 

Of  the  eagles'  awful  wings, 
Ere  beyond  the  cliff  they  stir 

With  resistless  winno wings. 
Lone  they  are,  the  prescient  ones; 

'Mid  to-day's  persistent  roar 
They  behold  the  couriers  run 

From  to-morrow's  opening  door. 

When  the  waiting  kingdoms  call 

They  can  hear  the  kings  reply; 
Plain  they  see  the  serpent  crawl 

Back  to  Eden's  gate  to  die. 
While  they  wait  with  lifted  hands, 

While  they  watch  with  wondering  eyes, 
You,  that  halfway  understand, 

Pray  for  souls  so  strangely  wise ! 
28 


DEATH 

White  and  inscrutable,  soundless,  alone; 
Over  the  beautiful  building  thy  throne, 
Stately,  victorious,  making  thy  claim; 
Over  the  glorious  writing  thy  name. 

Calm,  unassailable,  fixed  in  thy  seat; 
Swords,  unavailable,  break  at  thy  feet; 
Kings  in  their  palaces  pale  at  thy  sign; 
Deep  in  their  chalices  freezes  the  wine. 

Words  can  not  reach  to  thee,  backward  they 

come; 

Love  stands  beseeching  thee,  still  thou  art  dumb ; 
Youth  in  its  loveliness,  babes  of  an  hour, 
Age  with  its  loneliness,  all  are  thy  dower. 

Thou,  when  thou  findest  one  worn  to  the  heart, 
Then  thou  art  kindest  one,  taking  his  part; 
Men  their  Gethsemanes  leave  at  thy  call; 
Thou,  from  their  enemies,  savest  them  all. 


29 


THE  CUP  OF  YOUTH 

What  if  some  day  upon  your  door 
A  hand  should  knock  as  to  implore 

Your  swift  attention,  and  you  rose 
With  smiling  lips,  as  one  who  knows 

A  friend  has  come;  when  lo!  a  face 
You  ne'er  had  seen  in  any  place 

Should  look  at  you,  a  hand  lift  up 
Before  your  eyes  a  crystal  cup 

Which  held  the  draught  by  poets  sung, 
The  water  that  should  make  you  young; 

Make  answer,  you  who  moan  and  weep, 
And  babble  in  your  troubled  sleep, 

Would  you  not  whisper,  No!  No!  No! 
And  ask  your  wondrous  guest  to  go? 


COURTESY 

I  think  we  should  arise  and  go. 

A  thousand  guests,  and  more, 
Are  pressing  at  the  outer  gates, 

Or  knocking  at  the  door. 

They  need  the  little  space  we  take — 
How  gay  and  strong  they  seem ! 

Though  we  are  drowsing  more  and  more, 
Their  eyes  are  stars  a-gleam. 

We'll  say  good-bye  and  leave  them  now- 
We  thank  our  gracious  hosts; 

But  larger  homes  begin  to  call 
From  all  the  upper  coasts. 


PAIN 

I  know  not  why  I  came, 
Nor  why  I  stay  so  long; 

No  creature  loves  my  name, 
None  praise  me  in  their  song. 

On  all  my  lonesome  way, 
Men  look  at  me  and  frown ; 

And,  be  it  night  or  day, 

They  drop  their  curtains  down. 

There's  no  one  on  the  earth 
Who  bids  me  come  and  stay; 

They  think  I  check  the  mirth, 
And  spoil  the  pleasant  play. 

Yet  in  my  hand  is  writ 

A  sign  I  do  not  know; 
I  pause  to  ponder  it, 

Whichever  way  I  go. 

It  glimmers  like  a  star, 
It  whispers  like  a  rune; 

My  Own — whoe'er  you  are, 
Dismiss  me  not  too  soon! 
32 


SINCERITY 

Come  out  into  the  open 

And  say  the  thing  you  mean ; 
Let  honest  words  be  spoken 

Our  sacred  souls  between; 
The  truth  again  may  win  you, 

Your  fingers  take  the  prize; 
The  spark  of  God  within  you 

Leap  outward  from  your  eyes. 


33 


A   GREAT  MAN 

King  of  himself,  he  seeks  not  earth's  renown, 
But  patient  wends  to  meet  his  daily  tasks; 

Bows  not  his  head  for  laurel-wreath  or  crown; 
An  honest  wage  is  all  he  craves  or  asks. 

Yet  is  he  greater  than  himself  has  dreamed, 
And  men  who  pass  him  check  their  hurried 
pace; 

So  clear  a  light  from  his  clear  eyes  has  gleamed, 
It  dims  the  glare  on  street  and  market-place. 


34 


JOY 

My  name  is  Joy !     Come  out  and  hear  me  sing, 

Unfurl  your  flags  to-day, 
And  question  not,  nor  ask  for  anything 

That  makes  an  hour's  delay. 

For  ah !  Beloved,  by  chariot  swift  as  mine 

No  human  feet  may  run; 
I  fling  you  flowers  and  gems  of  rare  design, 

And  tidings  from  the  sun! 


35 


OUT   OF   THE   DUSK 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  dusk 
And  odor  of  myrrh  and  musk, 
Looked  Yesterday,  old  and  wise, 
With  love  in  its  faded  eyes. 

Then  all  my  heart's  red  blood 
Leapt  in  tumultuous  flood. 
And  I  cried  to  the  phantom:  "Go, 
Lie  down  in  your  shroud  of  snow. 

4 '  You  are  one  with  the  worn-out  moon, 
But  I,  in  the  blaze  of  noon, 
In  the  noise  and  the  dust  of  strife 
Must  deal  with  the  things  of  life. 

"And  my  days,  they  go  all  ways, 
Past  the  doors  of  blame  and  praise, 
And  whatever  I  keep  or  lack, 
I  never  may  turn  me  back. 

"You  were  only  a  link  in  a  chain, 
A  blade  of  the  grass  of  the  plain, 
The  ash  where  the  incense  burned, 
A  page  that  I  wrote  and  turned. 
36 


Out  of  the  Dusk  37 

1 '  Dear  shadow,  abide  in  peace 
And  wait  for  the  years  to  cease, 
And  patiently  watch  and  see 
What  the  Lord  will  do  with  me." 

Then  Yesterday,  old  and  wise, 
With  love  in  its  faded  eyes, 
Waved  long  farewell,  and  passed 
Into  the  silence  vast. 


MY  ROSE 

My  Rose!     My  Rose!     I  loved  you  so; 
With  tireless  eyes  I  watched  you  grow; 
From  fields  afar  your  roots  were  brought, 
Your  life  was  all  my  own,  I  thought. 

I  proudly  saw  your  leaves  unfold, 
No  King  might  buy  you  with  his  gold; 
So  sweet  you  were,  so  wondrous  fair 
No  Queen  should  bind  you  in  her  hair. 

When  Northern  winds  were  loud  and  chill, 
And  frosts  were  whitening  vale  and  hill, 
I  said,  "Not  any  blast  that  blows 
Shall  play  too  roughly  with  my  Rose." 

If  suns  above  you  fiercely  beat, 
I  screened  you  from  their  glare  and  heat, 
And  prayed  that  only  gentlest  dew 
And  softest  rain  might  water  you. 

On  shining  slope,  in  shaded  grot, 
Were  countless  blooms.     I  saw  them  not, 
Nor  missed  I  them  in  any  wise, 
Though  dead  they  lay  before  my  eyes. 
38 


My  Rose  39 

One  day,  just  when  the  Sun  was  low, 
The  patient  Gardener,  walking  slow, 
Paused  by  my  Rose-tree  for  a  while, 
Then  looked  at  me  with  curious  smile. 

I  scarcely  dared  to  lift  my  eyes, 
I  knew  he  was  both  kind  and  wise, 
And  all  too  plain  my  heart  could  guess 
His  gaze  had  pierced  my  selfishness. 

He  spoke  no  word  of  praise  or  blame; 
Just  smiled  on  me  and  named  my  name, 
And  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  bless ; 
Then  left  me  there  in  loneliness. 

Next  morn,  in  distant  garden  close, 
Deep-rooted,  radiant,  grew  my  Rose; 
I  looked  at  it  through  palings  tall — 
My  Rose  that  missed  me  not  at  all ! 

How  fair  it  was !     I  grew  content, 
So  plain  the  thing  the  Gardener  meant; 
In  days  or  centuries  yet  to  be 
The  rose  would  be  returned  to  me ! 

And  now  I  notice,  when  I  pass, 

The  golden  sheen  on  grain  and  grass, 

And  kin  to  me  in  all  their  needs 

Are  common  flowers  and  wayside  weeds. 


THE    LAST   DAYS 

Ah,  Dearest,  these  are  the  last,  last  days, 

Their  moments  swiftly  run; 
The  hills  are  lost  in  purple  haze, 

We  scarce  can  see  the  sun; 
With  drooping  wings,  through  endless  space, 

Our  old  illusions  flee, 
And  silence  comes,  with  sacred  face, 

And  stares  at  you  and  me. 

Ah,  Love,  my  Love,  in  last,  last  days, 

How  sweet  the  roses  seem; 
While  yet  a  little  light  delays, 

Back  comes  the  morning  dream. 
In  tents  of  peace,  with  perfect  trust 

That  youth  may  never  know, 
Though  half  our  idols  lie  in  dust, 

How  fond  the  heart  can  grow! 


40 


HOW  WILT  THOU  GO? 

When  all  thy  days  are  done,  and  Life's  great 

door, 

Which  let  thee  in,  shall  open  wide  once  more 
To  let  thee  out ;  thou  wanderer  to  and  fro, 
With  what  equipment  wilt  thou  rise  and  go  ? 
Wilt  say  farewell  to  earth  with  whimpering  cries, 
And  clinging  hands,  and  backward-turning  eyes? 
Or  wilt  thou  pass  as  pleased  as  any  child 
That  fears  no  evil  though  the  night  is  wild, 
But  singing  goes  across  the  darkened  halls, 
With  swift  obedience  when  his  father  calls  ? 


THE   LAST   OPINION 

Death  did  a  wondrous  thing  for  him, 
As  cold,  and  clothed  in  white, 

And  blind,  and  mute,  and  motionless, 
It  held  him  plain  in  sight. 

For  then  we  saw  no  fault  in  him; 

We  blamed  ourselves  and  said : 
"  We  were  mistaken."     One  by  one 

We  rose,  and  praised  the  dead ! 


42 


THE   CHILDREN'S   COUNTRY 

She  is  sitting  very  silent  in  her  little  crimson  chair, 
With  the  flicker  of  the  firelight  on  her  shining 

golden  hair, 
And  all  pleasant  things  surround  her,  but  her 

thoughts  are  otherwhere. 

For  the  little  lads  and  lasses  have  a  country  of 

their  own, 
Where,    without    the    older    people,    they  can 

wander  off  alone, 
Into  dim  and  distant  regions,  that  were  never 

named  or  known. 

They  are  wearied  with  the  questions  and  the  run 
ning  to  and  fro, 

For  some  one  is  always  saying  "You  must  come  " 
or  "You  must  go," 

"You  must  read  and  write  correctly,  walking, 
talking,  thus  and  so." 

They  can  turn  at  any  moment  from  the  figures 

on  their  slates, 
And  the  names  of  all  the  islands  and  the  oceans 

and  the  states 
Disappear  and  are  forgotten,  when  they  see  the 

shining  gates 

43 


44  The  Children's  Country 

Of  their  own  delightful  country,   where  they 

wander  as  they  please, 
On  the  great  enchanted  mountains,  and  among 

the  fadeless  trees, 
With  a  thousand  other  children,  all  entirely  at 

their  ease. 

O  the  happy,  happy  children!  do  they  wish  for 

anything  ? 
Book  or  boat  or  bird  or  picture,  silken  dress  or 

golden  ring  ? 
Lo!  a  little  page  will  hasten  and  the  treasure 

straight  will  bring. 

Is  it  strange  the  other  people  can  not  find  this 

land   at  all. 
If  they  ever  knew  its  language,  it  is  lost  beyond 

recall, 
And  they  only,  in  their  dreamings,  hear  its  music 

rise  and  fall. 

O  the  riches  of  the  children,  with  this  country  for 

their  own, 
All  the  splendor  of  its  castles,  every  flower  and 

shining  stone, 
Until  time  itself  is  ended,  and  the  worlds  are 

overthrown ! 


THE  OLD   DAGUERREOTYPE 

O  friend  beloved !  one  glance  of  yours 
Through  all  the  changeful  years  endures; 

Entangled  in  the  sun's  bright  rays, 
A  subtle,  shadowy  thing,  it  stays 

For  me  to  look  upon  and  keep, 
While  you  are  in  the  grave,  asleep. 

Dear  pleasant  eyes,  ye  do  not  mark 
The  dawnings,  nor  the  evenings  dark; 

The  mountain-tops  are  white  with  snow ; 
By  country  roads  the  wild-flowers  grow; 

On  new-made  graves  the  sunbeams  fall; 
Ye  look  straight  on  beyond  them  all. 

Sweet  silent  lips,  once  red  as  wine, 

What  smiles  and  words  of  love  were  thine ! 

Ye  rilled  the  air  with  laugh  and  song; 
Ye  paled  and  trembled  at  the  wrong; 

Whence  came  to  you  this  grand  control 
O'er  all  the  passions  of  the  soul? 

My  precious  friend,  from  year  to  year, 
A  shade  among  the  shadows  here 
45 


46  The  Old  Daguerreotype 

You  dwell  apart,  nor  grieve,  nor  blame 
That  now  I  seldom  name  your  name, 

For  time  makes  haste — the  hour  is  late; 
We  both  remember  and  we  wait. 


MY  SHADOW 

Up  and  down  it  follows,  follows, 

I  can  never  quite  escape  ; 
On  the  hills  and  in  the  hollows, 

This  familiar,  silent  shape 
Still  is  with  me,  tireless  ever; 

Friend  or  foe — whoe'er  I  meet, 
This  companion  leaves  me  never 

Keeping  step  with  soundless  feet. 

Looking  at  it,  I  am  lonely, 

For  a  stranger  still  it  seems; 
Though  it  follows  me — me  only, 

Yet,  as  something  seen  in  dreams, 
I  behold  it.     Oft  I  wonder 

Whither  all  its  steps  do  tend; 
All  its  features  hidden  under 

Veils  no  changeful  winds  can  rend. 

Can  no  pain  nor  passion  move  thee, 
O  my  comrade?     I  am  tossed 

By  the  tempests  sent  to  prove  me — 
On  thy  calm  their  wrath  is  lost. 
47 


48  My  Shadow 

Come  thou  near,  my  patient  lover, 
Let  me  whisper  that  I  see — 

What  no  other  may  discover — 
Change  at  last  has  come  to  me ! 

Once  thy  feet  were  swift  beside  me, 

Not  a  hill  too  high  to  climb; 
From  the  heat  thou  didst  not  hide  thee, 

Naught  to  thee  were  space  and  time; 
Light  as  air,  I  saw  thee  dancing 

Down  the  pathway  where  I  strayed. 
Dost  thou  see  the  night  advancing? 

Art  thou  of  the  dark  afraid? 

Canst  thou  hear  me,  lover,  stranger? 

Silent  shape,  I  tell  thee  now, 
I,  through  safety  and  through  danger, 

Am  become  as  changed  as  thou. 
Yet  my  heart  leaps  on  before  me, 

New  stars  burn  within  the  sky; 
Courage,  courage !  I  implore  thee — 

O  my  comrade,  faster  fly ! 


WHATEVER  TEARS  MINE  EYES  MAY 
WEEP" 

Whatever  tears  mine  eyes  may  weep, 
One  precious  thing  I  still  may  keep, 

Till  earth  and  time  shall  end; 

I  think  it  will  be  mine  in  Heaven, 

This  perfect  gift  that  God  has  given — 
It  is  your  love,  my  friend. 


49 


A  STATUE 

You  who  love  to  look  on  statues, 

And  the  rarest  would  not  miss, 
Speak  in  whispers  and  step  softly 

When  you  come  to  look  at  this. 
Was  there  ever  whiter  marble  ? 

Not  a  hint  of  color  there, 
Save — or  is  it  light  from  Heaven  ? — 

Golden  glints  upon  the  hair. 

They  who  look  upon  this  statue 

Must  come  quickly.     Ere  the  dawn 
Of  another  day  shall  brighten 

Heavy  curtains  will  be  drawn 
O'er  the  niche  that  must  receive  it: 

There,  in  silence  consecrate, 
Where  no  mortal  eye  can  see  it, 

It  will  resurrection  wait. 

Do  you  say,  as  you  stand  weeping, 

By  its  awful  power  oppressed, 
That  its  place  is  in  the  sunlight? 

Nay:  the  statue's  name  is  Rest. 
Nothing  may  disturb  its  quiet; 

Shade  on  shade  will  wrap  it  round; 
Peace  will  guard  the  heavy  portal 

Of  its  temple  underground. 
50 


A  Statue  51 

"Cruel,  cruel!"  you  make  answer; 

"All  it  lacks  is  blood  and  breath!" 
Hush !  two  sculptors  wrought  this  statue, 

And  their  names  are  Life  and  Death. 
Comes  a  day  when  earth  and  Heaven 

Shall  be  shaken ;  then  ah !  then, 
This  white  statue  shall  be  lifted, 

This  dead  creature  live  again ! 


OTHERS 

Others  are  doing  the  wonderful  things, 

Theirs  are  the  fingers  that  touch  the  strings 

That  sound  so  long  ere  the  music  dies ; 
Darlings  and  pets  of  their  time,  they  hear 

Praises  of  multitudes,  far  and  near, 
And  ever  their  fame  before  them  flies. 

Alas!  for  the  Others!  how  lonely  they  stand. 

Far  and  apart  on  the  hilltops  grand, 
We  see  them  plainly  against  the  sky. 

God's  pity  upon  them ! — there's  no  retreat 
From  the  world's  bold  stare  and  the  sun's  fierce 
heat 

For  the  gifted  ones  who  have  passed  us  by. 


WE  LOVE  BUT  FEW 

O  yes,  we  mean  all  kind  words  that  we  say, 

To  old  friends  and  to  new; 
Yet  doth  this  truth  grow  clearer  day  by  day, 

We  love  but  few. 

We  love !  we  love !  what  easy  words  to  say, 

And  sweet  to  hear, 
When  sunrise  splendor  brightens  all  the  way, 

And  far  and  near 

Is  breath  of  flowers,  and  caroling  of  birds, 

And  bells  that  chime, — 
Our  hearts  are  light,  we  do  not  weigh  our  words 

At  morning  time. 

But  when  the  matin-music  all  is  hushed, 

And  life's  great  load 
Doth  weigh  us  down,  and  thick  with  dust 

Doth  grow  the  road, 

Then  do  we  say  less  often  that  we  love, 

The  words  have  grown, 
With  pleading  eyes  we  look  to  Christ  above, 

And  clasp  our  own. 

53 


54  We  Love  But  Few 

Their  lives  are  bound  to  ours  with  mighty  bands ; 

No  mortal  strait, 
Nor  Death  himself,  with  his  prevailing  hands, 

Can  separate. 

The  world  is  wide,  and  many  names  are  dear, 

And  friendships  true, 
Yet  do  these  words  read  plainer  year  by  year : 

We  love  but  few. 


IDLENESS 

All  around  you,  everywhere, 
Men  and  women  do  and  dare, 
Swift,  alert,  aware,  alive, 
In  the  swarming  human  hive. 

Up  and  down,  and  to  and  fro, 
On  an  endless  round  they  go; 
Patiently  they  bear  their  lot, 
Life  and  death  they  question  not. 

If  the  wind  blow  east,  or  west, 
They  can  neither  play  nor  rest ; 
So  much  work  beneath  the  sun, 
Can  they  die  with  it  undone? 

You,  an  idler,  hear  no  toll 
Of  lost  chances  in  your  soul, 
Having  neither  name  nor  place, 
With  the  runners  in  the  race. 

Are  you  made  of  finer  clay? 
Have  you  redder  blood  than  they? 
Must  they  always  lay  the  meat 
Which  they  strive  for,  at  your  feet  ? 
55 


56  Idleness 

Must  they  always,  first  and  last, 
Stand  between  you  and  the  blast  ? 
Are  you  God's  peculiar  care? 
Has  He  favorites  anywhere  ? 


ROOM 

We  ask  for  room  where  a  hope  can  grow, 

A  dear  old  hope  that  has  tried  to  live; 
A  place  where  its  starving  roots  may  go, 

And  secret  springs  their  moisture  give. 
Room!  room  for  a  hope  that  can  not  pass, 

That  drinks  the  lightest  dews  that  spill 
From  broken  boughs  and  withered  grass, 

And  clings  to  life  with  desperate  will. 


57 


THE  LAST  MEETING 

If  I  had  known,  if  I  had  known, 
That  day  we  met  upon  the  street, 

That  nevermore,  in  any  zone 

Of  earth's  wide  spaces  we  should  meet; 

What  different  greeting  had  been  mine! 

What  different  farewell  had  been  thine! 

If  we  had  known  or  dimly  guessed, 
That  close  to  you  were  waving  wings ; 

If  some  low  voice  within  your  breast, 
Had  whispered  of  eternal  things, 

What  solemn  message,  high  and  deep, 

You  would  have  given  me  to  keep ! 

I  now  recall — how  strange  it  seems ! — 
You  spoke  of  "writing,  "ah!  my  friend, 

From  that  far  land  beyond  my  dreams 
What  wondrous  letter  would  you  send ! 

Here  in  my  silent  room  I  sit, 

And  hush  my  breath  to  think  of  it. 

If  I  had  known !  if  I  had  known ! 
Still  to  myself  the  words  I  say, 
58 


The  Last  Meeting  59 

As  o'er  your  grave  the  snows  are  blown, 

For  surely  it  was  yesterday, 
When,  for  a  moment's  little  space, 
You  stood  there,  smiling  in  my  face. 

I  did  not  know,  I  could  not  know: 
The  angels  keep  their  secrets  well, 

But  as  from  earth  to  Heaven  they  go, 
I  think  some  kindly  one  will  tell, 

That  in  remembrance  of  that  hour, 

I  lift  to  you  this  little  flower. 


THE  TREASURES  OF  KURIUM 

Come,  look  at  the  treasures  of  Kurium  spread 
In  the  light  of  the  sun.     From  the  dust  of  the 

dead 

They  are  lifted  at  last,  and  they  blaze  as  of  old, 
These  vials  and  vases  and  trinkets  of  gold. 

They  are  parts  of  the  stories  of  temple  and  tomb, 
And  they  bided  their  time  in  the  silence  and 

gloom; 

While  flesh  that  was  mortal  would  molder  away, 
They  flashed  in  defiance  of  time  and  decay. 

These  rubies  are  priceless,  and  red  as  the  blood 
Of  women  who  wore  them  when  life  was  at  flood ; 
O  maidens  of  Cyprus,  and  daughters  of  Kings ; 
What  secrets  are  these  that  are  traced  in  the 
rings? 

What   soft,    slender   throat   did   this   necklace 

adorn? 
Was  it  love's  trembling  gift  in  the  world's  early 

morn? 

Speak  low  in  this  place,  for  they  do  not  forget ; 
Some  love  that  could  die  not  may  cling  to  it  yet. 
60 


The  Treasures  of  Kuriurn  61 

Thou  "King  Etevander, "  with  story  untold; 
Didst  offer  Astarte  these  armlets  of  gold  ? 
O'er-wearied  with  splendor,  a  boon  didst  thou 

crave? 
Was  it  peace  on  the  earth?     Was  it  rest  in  the 

grave? 

What  strange  fire  was  lit  in  these  vases  of  glass  ? 

It  burns  unconsuming  as  centuries  pass; 

What  rainbows  were  melted  and  poured  in  the 

mold? 
What  flash  of  Auroras  ?   What  sunsets  of  gold  ? 

These  tear-bottles  here  which  are  dry  as  the  dust, 
Were  once  overflowing,  their  owners,  we  trust 
Behold  them  with  wonder,  and  smile  as  they  say, 
Were  they  ours?     Did  we  weep  when  so  brief 
was  our  stay  ? 

Rich  wreckage  is  this,  which  has  come  on  the 

crest 

Of  billows  that  roll  from  the  east  to  the  west; 
With  hints  of  old  sorrow,  and  splendor,  and  pride, 
It  is  linking  the  souls  which  the  ages  divide. 


" THROUGH  A  GLASS,  DARKLY" 

How  many  times,  within  the  glass, 
I  see  a  figure  pause,  and  pass; 
As  like  myself  as  it  can  be, 
And  yet  it  scarcely  looks  at  me. 

The  painted  portraits  on  the  wall, 
That  do  not  move  or  speak  at  all, 
Look  on  me  with  as  kind  a  glance, 
As  this  impassive  countenance. 

But  one  day,  one,  before  the  glass 
I  paused,  and  did  not  dare  to  pass; 
For  there,  by  some  foreknowledge  lit, 
A  face  looked  out.     I  looked  at  it. 

The  sad  eyes  pierced  me  through  and  through, 
From  the  set  lips  a  challenge  flew ; 
As  it  had  passed  through  searching  flame, 
A  voice,  imperious,  called  my  name. 

Before  some  clear,  inshining  light, 
My  earthly  atoms  fled  from  sight; 
As  that  which  evermore  would  be, 
My  soul  itself  confronted  me. 
62 


"Through  a  Glass,  Darkly"         63 

I  looked  at  it,  ashamed,  dismayed; 
It  wore  a  crown,  I  was  afraid; 
As  one  who  might,  it  made  demands 
Of  blood  and  brain,  of  heart  and  hands. 

It  questioned  me,  it  whispered  clear, 
Great  secrets  that  I  ought  to  hear; 
It  bade  me  keep,  in  solemn  trust, 
Its  royal  purple  from  the  dust. 

The  tryst  was  ended.     I  could  see 
A  veil  drop  down  'twixt  it  and  me; 
I  had  no  questions  more  to  ask 
Of  Life  or  Death.     I  knew  my  task. 


THE  PRAYERS 

If  we  listen,  we  can  hear 

Through  all  sounds  that  earth  is  making, 
Through  its  music,  sweet  and  clear, 

Through  its  moan  when  hearts  are  breaking, 
A  low  murmur,  as  of  streams, 
Flowing  through  a  land  of  dreams. 

'Tis  the  ceaseless  sound  of  prayer, 

Men  and  women,  sobbing,  pleading, 
With  more  pain  than  they  can  bear, 
For  God's  pity  interceding. 
All  together,  each  alone, 
Beat  the  prayers  against  the  throne. 


64 


HAUNTED 

It  comes  once  more !    I  turn  and  flee, 

And  wave  it  backward,  all  in  vain; 
It  knows  my  pathways, — woe  is  me! 

On,  on,  across  the  fields  I  strain, 
And  through  the  forests,  where  the  trees 

Lock  all  their  branches ;  but  I  hear 
A  whisper  on  the  wandering  breeze, 

And  know  the  haunting  shape  is  near. 

Within  the  city's  crowded  street, 

I  strive  to  hide  me  from  my  foe ; 
Where  many  hearts  so  gaily  beat, 

I  surely  may  with  courage  go. 
I  should  be  glad,  the  sun  is  high; 

I  would  not  harm  the  slightest  thing, 
And  God  himself  is  in  the  sky, 

And  all  His  angels  on  the  wing. 

I  do  not  know,  sometimes  I  think 

A  friend  may  come  in  strange  disguise, 
With  some  clear  draught  for  me  to  drink, 

As  life's  most  wonderful  surprise; 
That  in  some  near  or  distant  day, 

The  thing  I  fear  may  take  my  hand 
And  draw  me  close,  and  smile,  and  say, 

"At  last,  at  last,  you  understand!" 
s  65 


ON  CHRISTMAS  DAY 

What  can  I  give  you  on  this  day, 

My  dear,  dear  friend  of  many  years  ? 
Your  love,  as  steadfast  as  the  sun, 
Along  my  lengthening  life  has  run, 
Nor  failed  me  once,  nor  made  delay, 

Nor  laughed  to  scorn  my  hopes  and  fears. 

When  I  am  weakest,  still  your  hand 
Is  stretched  to  touch  me  in  my  place. 

Whatever  comes,  I  smile  serene, 

To  think  my  soul  on  yours  can  lean, 

For  you  are  sure  to  understand, 

And  peace  and  strength  are  in  your  face. 

O  lightly,  lightly,  to  and  fro, 

The  gifts  on  Christmas  day  are  passed. 
Our  hands  are  weary  as  they  hold 
The  tiresome  trinkets  bought  with  gold; 
A  while  they  please  us  with  their  glow, 

But  back  to  dust  they  fall  at  last. 

Alas !  my  friend,  how  poor  I  am ! 
No  gift  I  bring  you  on  this  day. 
66 


On  Christmas  Day  67 

No  filmy  web  from  Indian  loom, 
Nor  gem,  nor  flower,  nor  rare  perfume, 
Nor  spices  fine,  nor  costly  balm, 
Before  your  feet  my  hands  may  lay. 

And  yet  I  love  you,  love  you,  dear, 
And  love  a  deathless  thing  must  be. 

Mine  shall  enfold  you,  when  your  face 

Makes  happier  still  some  heavenly  place, 

And  no  revolving  earthly  year 

Brings  tears  or  pain  to  you  and  me. 


"I  AM  OLD,"  SAID  THE  EARTH 

"I  am  old, "  said  the  earth,  "I  am  old, 

I  am  wearied  in  all  my  frame ; 
I  am  stiff  with  the  northern  cold; 

I  am  seared  by  the  southern  flame; 
I  am  worn  with  the  ways  of  men ; 

Death  reaps  them  down,  like  corn, 
They  are  hid  in  my  breast,  and  then, 

Straightway,  new  men  are  born. 
And  their  laughter  is  all  in  vain, 

For  they  count  the  days  and  years; 
And  they  babble  of  loss  and  gain, 

And  they  drench  me  with  their  tears. 
Is  there  never  an  end  of  all? 

Can  a  great  world  never  die, 
And  rest,  like  a  mighty  ball, 

In  the  depth  of  the  awful  sky; 
Or,  some  day,  feel,  through  sea  and  sod, 

New,   quickening   touch,   from  the  hand  of 
God?" 


68 


SLEEP  SWEET 

Sleep  sweet  within  this  quiet  room 

O  thou!  whoe'er  thou  art; 
And  let  no  mournful  yesterday, 

Disturb  thy  peaceful  heart. 
Nor  let  tomorrow  scare  thy  rest, 

With  dreams  of  coming  ill; 
Thy  Maker  is  thy  changeless  Friend, 

His  love  surrounds  thee  still. 
Forget  thyself  and  all  the  world ; 

Put  out  each  feverish  light ; 
The  stars  are  watching  overhead; 

Sleep  sweet, — good  night !  good  night ! 


69 


THE  BUTTERFLIES 

Look  at  the  butterflies!  purposeless  things, 
How  idly  they  float  on  their  gossamer  wings, 
Over  the  poppies  and  over  the  grass, 
Swift  as  the  down  of  a  thistle  they  pass. 

Where  are  they  going,  and  why  are  they  here 
In  the  heat  of  the  day  and  the  noon  of  the  year  ? 
They  flutter  awhile  in  the  brightness,  and  then 
They  are  gone  from  our  sight,  and  they  come  not 
again. 

And  we — we  are  wearied  with  fever  and  frost ; 
Whatever  we  do,  it  must  be  at  a  cost ; 
We  hear  as  we  journey,  the  dropping  of  tears; 
We  bear  on  our  foreheads  the  stamp  of  the  years. 

But  look  at  the  butterflies !  beautiful  things, 
Before  us  and  over  us  flashing  their  wings; 
It  may  be,  the  Maker  who  fashioned  them  thus, 
Has  sent  the  gay  creatures  on  errands  to  us. 

Perhaps  we  go  slowly  when  we  should  be  swift 
To  follow  the  scent  of  the  roses,  that  drift 
70 


The  Butterflies  71 

Their  pink  snow  about  us,  more  oft  we  might 

play 
And  yet  finish  our  tasks  by  the  end  of  the  day. 

O  blest  are  the  eyes  that  are  clear  to  behold 
The  wonderful  glow  of  the  butterflies'  gold, 
With  leisure  to  follow  their  flight  as  they  pass 
Silently,  gracefully,  over  the  grass ! 


SUNSET 

The  birds  were  all  a-singing, 

The  morning  skies  were  red, 
And  sweet  was  our  communion, 

And  pleasant  words  we  said ; 
How  close  we  kept  together, 

With  never  once  a  frown, — 
But  look,  I  pray  you,  brother, 

The  sun  is  going  down ! 

Our  path,  that  at  the  morning, 

Was  as  a  rosy  line, 
Through  greenest  meadows  winding, 

Grows  shorter  all  the  time; 
And  now  my  eyes  are  brimming, 

To  see  the  shadows  fall, 
For  you  and  I  are  walking, 

With  no  kind  words  at  all. 

O  Sun,  stand  still  in  Heaven ! 

Be  not  so  swift  to  go 
Adown  your  path  of  glory; 

This  friend  that  loved  me  so 
72 


Sunset  73 

Must  smile  once  more  upon  me, 

And  I  once  more  on  him, 
Before  the  darkness  gathers, 

And  all  the  day  is  dim. 

No  matter  whose  the  blame  was; 

So  fast  the  shadows  fall, 
There's  no  time  left  for  talking, 

I'll  gladly  take  it  all; 
For  all  the  pride  and  anger, 

Die  out  within  my  breast, 
Now  while  the  sun  is  sinking, 

So  low  adown  the  west. 


FOR  WEAL  OR  WOE 

They  clasped  their  hands  for  weal  or  woe, 
And  went  together  down  the  road, 

The  road  that  led,  they  knew  not  whither, 

They  did  not  know  what  winds  would  blow, 
Nor  where  the  shining  rivers  flowed, 

Nor  when  the  sweetest  flowers  would  wither. 

Their  hands  were  clasped  for  weal  or  woe, 
For  love's  dear  sake  their  hearts  were  brave, 

And  years  went  onward,  slowly  creeping, 

Joy  was  their  friend.    With  face  aglow, 
She  often  came  to  them,  and  gave 

Some  priceless  pearl  into  their  keeping. 

Their  hands  were  clasped  for  weal  or  woe, 
Together  they  outwatched  the  moon 

In  many  a  solemn  tryst  with  sorrow. 

By  wayside  graves  their  tears  would  flow, 
And  crossing  many  a  lonesome  dune, 

They,  each  from  each,  some  hope  would  borrow. 

Their  hands  were  clasped  for  weal  or  woe, 
And  faith  was  strong,  and  could  not  fail, 
74 


For  Weal  or  Woe  75 

Though  doubts,  like  evil  birds,  were  flying, 
"Our  love  shall  last,  "  they  whispered  low; 

And  bent  their  heads  to  meet  the  gale, 
Which  left  its  wrecks  around  them  lying. 

Their  hands  were  clasped  for  weal  or  woe, 
More  tender  grew  their  words  and  ways, 

Their  fingers  now  were  feebly  clinging; 

They  journeyed  slowly  and  more  slow, 
For  strange,  new  stars  began  to  blaze, 

And  all  the  evening  bells  were  ringing. 


TWO  DREAMS 

What  awful  sounds  were  in  the  air, 
With  tears  and  torment  everywhere! 
My  feet  were  on  the  sinking  sands, 
They  drew  me  down ;  I  wrung  my  hands, 
And  creatures  whom  I  could  not  see, 
With  cruel  laughter  mocked  at  me ; 
I  could  not  breathe,  I  could  not  die, 
And  all  the  time,  within  the  sky, 
Were  soldiers  fighting.     Black  and  red 
Their  banners  waved  above  my  head. 
But  suddenly  a  low  voice  spoke: 
"Good-morning,  dear."    I  heard  and  woke. 
And  with  a  glad  exultant  scream 
I  cried —  "It  was  a  dream!  a  dream!" 

But  yesterday  I  saw  a  face 
Grow  white  and  still  within  its  place, 
And  over  eyes  that  long  had  wept, 
A  blessed  darkness  slowly  crept. 

0  friend  beloved,  all  pain  was  passed, 
And  you  were  sound  asleep  at  last. 

1  smiled  to  think  you  were  so  safe 

From  words  and  deeds  that  grieve  and  chafe; 
76 


Two  Dreams  77 

That  Sorrow's  self,  in  garments  gray, 
Like  wavering  mist,  had  fled  away; 
I  thought  you  heard,  as  music  clear, 
New  voices  say  "Good  morning,  dear." 
And  waking  where  the  glory  streamed, 
You  joyful  cried — "I  dreamed!  I  dreamed!" 


BEYOND 

Beyond  my  close  environment, 

To-day's  insistent  call, 
I  forward  fare,  past  cave  and  tent 

And  hut  and  castle- wall. 

Shall  I — an  alien,  far  from  home, 

Denaturalized — forget 
The  quest  I  make,  and  aimless  roam, 

With  bounds  too  near  me  set  ? 

With  skies  above  me  bending  down 

To  meet  the  mists  that  soar, 
There's  music  somewhere  that  must  drown 

The  world's  perpetual  roar. 

To  find  my  Own,  across  the  gray 

Old  sea  of  Time  I  swim, 
And  clear  my  eyes  from  mist  and  spray 

To  watch  the  orient  rim. 

For  often  now  I  see  afloat 

Some  fair,  unearthly  thing, 
And  from  above  a  long-drawn  note 

Has  set  me  wondering! 

78 


AFTER  THE  STORM 

Last  night  a  storm  was  on  the  sea; 

The  wreckage  drifts  ashore; 
Come  walk  along  the  beach  with  me, 

And  hear  the  breakers  roar. 

What  soul  their  sorrow  understands? 

What  eye  can  trace  their  path? 
They  fling  themselves  upon  the  sands, 

And  foam  with  fear  or  wrath. 

The  shore  receives  them,  patient,  dumb, 
Nor  trembles  at  their  shocks; 

But  lifts  to  meet  them,  as  they  come, 
Its  great,  insensate  rocks. 

I  look  across  the  troubled  sea, 

And  seem  an  atom,  tost 
To  wandering  winds,  and  what  to  me 

Is  joy,  if  kept  or  lost? 

And  what  if  wearied  on  the  way, 

I  faint  and  fall  and  die; 
Would  any  miss,  till  judgment-day, 

So  small  a  thing  as  I  ? 
79 


THE  YELLOW  ROSE 

Within  a  book,  unopened  long, 

I  find  a  faded  yellow  rose, 

It  lies  across  a  poet's  song, 

That  tells  of  love  and  cruel  wrong, 

And  on  the  margin  of  the  page, 

Are  two  initials,  dim  with  age. 

The  song  I  read,  the  book  I  close, 

And  fling  away  the  yellow  rose. 

No  matter !    Always,  East  and  West, 

Will  yellow  roses  still  be  pressed. 


80 


LONELINESS 

Up !  Up  and  onward !    Cast  thy  loads 

Behind  thee,  as  thou  speedest  on; 
To  shining  summits,  stretch  the  roads 

Which  many  rain  storms  beat  upon. 
If  boulders  from  the  awful  height 

Come  crashing  down,  look  not  at  them; 
A  hand  unseen  will  guide  their  flight, — 

They  may  not  touch  thy  garment's  hem. 

Since  thou  didst  leave  the  vales  below, 

Where   smooth,    green   paths   for   thee   were 

made; 
Since  thou  didst  say  thy  feet  should  go 

Up  the  great  mountains,  unafraid, 
Make  now  thy  words  of  boasting  good, 

Unto  the  void  thy  terrors  toss; 
Vex  not  thy  chosen  solitude 

With  words  of  loneliness  and  loss. 


81 


A  LITTLE  LOVE 

Give  them  just  a  little  love, 

These  poor  creatures  with  no  traces 

Of  the  lovely  in  their  faces. 

Though  they  take  your  gift  with  scorning, 

Though  they  grieve  you  night  and  morning; 

In  the  name  of  God  above, 

Give  them  just  a  little  love. 

Give  them  just  a  little  love, 

Touch  their  hands  in  friendly  fashion, 

Speak  to  them  in  kind  compassion, 

Tell  them  of  the  Heavenly  City, 

With  its  everlasting  pity, 

In  the  name  of  God  above; 

Give  them  just  a  little  love. 

Give  them  just  a  little  love, 

These  poor  creatures.    On  their  faces 

Sin  and  shame  have  left  their  traces. 

Do  not  judge  them.    Kindly  leave  them 

To  the  Christ  who  may  receive  them. 

In  the  name  of  God  above, 

Give  them  just  a  little  love. 


82 


THIS  ONLY 

Dear  little,  weary,  wasted  hand, 
That  from  the  valley  lonely 

Waved  long  farewell,  and  left  to  us, 
This  golden  circlet  only ! 


UNSATISFIED 

Be  still  for  a  moment,  thou  weariful  world! 

Thy  wheels  they  go  faster  and  faster; 
I  have  bowed  to  thy  will,  I  have  followed  thy 

beck, 
I  have  worn,  uncomplaining,  thy  yoke  on  my 

neck, 
But  I  will  not  acknowledge  thee  master. 

Thy  beautiful  trinkets  I  hold  in  my  hands ; 

I  cannot  but  smile  at  thy  story; 
The  lily-bells  ring  and  the  birds  fly  in  flocks, 

The  vines  and  the  mosses  creep  over  the  rocks, 
The  clouds  are  as  banners  of  glory. 

Like  blossoms  the  butterflies  flit  here  and  there, 
And  birds  in  the  branches  are  singing; 

The  children  are  mocking  at  sorrow  and  care, 
There's  music  and  laughter  afloat  in  the  air, 

And  flowers  in  the  meadows  are  springing. 

A  wonderful  pageant !    I  see  it  go  by; 

And  beauty  and  ashes  are  blended; 
Keeping  step  with  the  others,  I  march  to  and  fro, 

But  I  feel  all  the  time  like  a  child  at  a  show, 
That  he  knows,  in  an  hour,  will  be  ended. 
84 


DEAR  HOPE  OF  MINE 

Dear  Hope  of  mine,  struck  down  in  strength, 

As  you  were  upward  flying; 
Lie  still !  lie  still !  for  you,  at  length, 

Healed,  helped,  all  foes  defying, 
Shall  cleave  again  the  star-lit  track, 
No  wind  that  blows  may  beat  you  back; 

You  are  not  dead,  or  dying  ! 


A  NEW  GUEST 

What,  Sorrow!  have  you  come  at  last? 

And  are  you  now  my  guest  to  be  ? 
So  many  times  my  door  you  passed, 

As  one  who  had  forgotten  me. 

Well,  well,  come  in!     Beside  my  hearth 
Sit  down,  as  many  a  friend  has  done, 

When  all  my  house  was  filled  with  mirth, 
And  hearts  were  glad  from  sun  to  sun. 

For  you  I  spread  no  banquet  fine, 
Nor  call  my  neighbors  in  to  see 

Your  pale,  sad  face,  strange  guest  of  mine 
Yet  I  a  courteous  host  will  be. 

I  will  not  strive  with  you  at  all, 
I  will  not  frown  and  bid  you  go; 

If  Joy  has  gone  beyond  recall, 
You  are  her  sister  dear,  I  know. 

You  did  not  chance  to  walk  my  way ; 

With  orders  signed  and  sealed  you  came 
You  followed  where  my  pathway  lay 

And  knew  my  number  and  my  name. 
86 


"LEST  YE  BE  JUDGED" 

They  thought,  with  tottering  human  feet, 
Themselves  could  climb  to  the  judgment-seat ; 

And  their  steps  were  upward  bent. 
But  a  strange  light  flashed  from  a  flying  cloud, 
And  a  voice  dropped  down,  and  the  heavens 
were  bowed, 

And  they  knew  what  judgment  meant ! 


87 


JOY 

List !  her  feet  are  at  your  door ; 

Her  sandals  shine  with  evening  dew ; 
How  late  she  is !  but  now,  once  more, 

She  turns  her  radiant  eyes  on  you. 
For  long  delay  she  makes  amend; 

Rare  scarlet  blooms  around  you  fall, 
And  glad  new  songs  to  Heaven  ascend, 

For  earth  is  glorious,  after  all ! 


88 


A  LIE 

She  told  a  lie,  a  little  lie. 

It  was  so  small  and  white, 
She  said,  ' '  It  cannot  help  but  die 

Before  another  night." 
And  then  she  laughed  to  see  it  go, 
And  thought  it  was  as  white  as  snow. 

But  oh,  the  lie!  it  larger  grew, 

Nor  paused  by  night  or  day, 
And  many  watched  it  as  it  flew, 

And,  if  it  made  delay, 
Like  something  that  was  near  to  death, 
They  blew  it  onward  with  their  breath. 

And  on  its  track  the  mildew  fell, 

And  tears  of  grief  and  shame, 
And  many  a  spotless  lily-bell 

Was  shriveled  as  with  flame. 
The  wings  that  were  so  small  and  white, 
Were  large,  and  strong,  and  black  as  night. 

One  day  a  woman  stood  aghast, 
And  trembled  in  her  place, 
89 


90  A  Lie 

For  something,  flying  far  and  fast, 

Had  smote  her  in  the  face; 
Something  that  cried  in  thunder  tone, 
' '  I  come !    I  come !    Take  back  your  own ! " 


A  PRAYER  FOR  HELP 

Canst  thou  not  hear  us,  thou  Almighty  God? 
Are  all  our  prayers  like  bubbles  upward  blown  ? 
The  earth  is  shaking.    Man,  and  sea,  and  sod, 
And  all  thy  winds  together,  making  moan. 

O  Sacrifice !    O  Tragedy  sublime ! 
The  fathers  old  are  marching  with  their  sons ; 
They  fling  themselves  by  thousands  at  a  time 
Against  the  maws  of  the  devouring  guns ! 

And  where  art  thou?     The  peoples  rage  like 

beasts ; 

With  faith  forsworn  and  passion  at  its  flood, 
They  Thee  forget,  and  at  their  bitter  feasts 
They  lift  to  Thee  strange  flagons  warm  with 

blood. 

And  overhead,  within  the  fenceless  sky, 
Which  was  our  own,  and  made  for  our  delight, 
Are  shapes  like  birds  that  slaughter  as  they  fly, 
And  sing  of  hate,  with  all  the  stars  in  sight. 

Behold  the  Kings!    O,  God,  behold  the  Kings! 
Their  eyes  are  sad.  The  crowns  are  heavy  weight, 


92  A  Prayer  for  Help 

The  throne  rooms  fill  with  mournful  echoings, 
And  armies  camp  too  near  the  palace  gate. 

We  whisper  low — A  re  these  the  days,  the  days, 
The  long,  last  days  of  all  the  years  of  Time  ? 
Hide  us,  O  God !    Our  cities  are  ablaze, 
Our  rivers  sicken  with  their  crimson  slime ! 

If  Thou  hast  missed  our  voices  from  the  choirs, 
How  can  we  praise  Thee  while  the  bullets  sing, 
And  smoke-wreaths  curl  above  our  dear  desires, 
And  faith  flies  slowly  on  a  wounded  wing  ? 

Maker  of  worlds,  and  hope  of  every  race, 
Through  warring  camps  by   suffering   souls 

implored, 

Send  Thou  to  us  from  his  exalted  place, 
Thy  Angel  Michael,  with  his  flaming  sword! 


A  SOUL 

Since  this  is  a  human  soul,  beware 
And  touch  it  not  with  a  careless  hand; 

Its  life  is  long,  give  light  and  air, 
And  let  it  live  as  its  laws  demand. 

I  pray  you  look;  it  is  rare  and  fine, 
An  alien  flower  with  an  inward  glow 

It  shrinks  away  from  your  dark  red  wine, 
And  slakes  its  thirst  with  the  dew  and  snow. 

It  is  sad  and  glad;  it  is  young  and  old; 

It  loves  the  cyclone  and  the  sun; 
It  is  like  a  harp  with  power  untold 

That  all  the  winds  may  play  upon. 


93 


AT  LAST 

At  last,  at  last,  the  precious  friend 

She  would  have  died  to  save, 
Grew  strangely  kind,  we  saw  him  bend 

Above  her  peaceful  grave 
With  ferns  and  flowers.     She  did  not  wake 
His  tardy  gifts  to  see  or  take. 


94 


A  VOICE 

Your  voice,  your  voice ;  the  voice  I  loved  so  well ! 
Best  friend  of  mine,  have  you  come  back  once 

more 
Through  utter  void,  from  Heaven's  own  height  to 

tell 
What  oft  you  told  me  with  your  tongue  and  pen  ? 

On  senseless  disk  that  whirls  before  my  eyes, 
Are  lines  too  swift,  too  infinitely  small 
For  me  to  trace,  yet  deep  within  them  lies 
Your  echoing  tones  that  cannot  die  at  all. 

My  glorious  One,  from  what  remotest  bound, 
Beyond  this  room,  and  Time's  lamenting  toll, 
Have  you  returned?     What  country  have  you 

found 
That  grants  brief  passport  to  your  faithful  soul  ? 


95 


A  TREE 

I  stood  beside  an  ancient  tree, 

And  stroked  its  bark  with  tender  hand; 
Good  friends  were  we;  it  counseled  me, 

Its  waving  leaves  my  forehead  fanned. 
I  long  had  watched  the  years  that  rolled, 

But  there,  beneath  an  ageless  sky, 
And  under  branches  centuries  old 

I  cried,  Dear  God,  how  young  am  I! 


96 


TO  THE  UNBORN  PEOPLES 

Ye  Peoples  of  the  future  years, 

We  you  salute.    To  you  we  fling 
From  these  revolving  hemispheres 

A  greeting  glad.    While  yet  we  cling 
To  earth's  old  rim,  we  think  of  you ; 

A  watch  we  keep  by  day  and  night, 
As  plain,  in  Heaven's  unfathomed  Blue, 

Your  great  battalions  sweep  in  sight. 

Hail !  Hail !  to  you,  ye  glorious  hosts, 

Ye  formless  shapes  that  haunt  us  now; 
Ye  gathering  tribes,  unresting  ghosts, 

Behold  us  here,  as  low  we  bow 
In  salutation  to  our  Kind; 

Our  kindred  dear,  whose  blood  will  be 
As  red  as  ours,  whose  hands  will  find 

To  rooms  we  found  not,  door  and  key. 

Ye  waiting  Ones  that  bide  your  time, 
Ye  too  shall  know  of  joy  and  pain; 

The  storms  will  smite  the  hills  you  climb ; 
The  suns  will  scorch  you  on  the  plain; 
7  97 


98  To  the  Unborn  Peoples 

The  seas  will  lure  you;  you  will  go 
In  paths  our  ships  may  never  find; 

On  isles  unknown  and  peaks  of  snow 
Your  tribes  will  camp,  your  horns  will  wind. 

Ye  unborn  Peoples,  we  have  tried 

To  march  in  ranks  where  none  retreat ; 
In  rifts  of  rocks  our  records  hide, 

And  you  may  find  them,  when  your  feet 
Shall  stand  in  places  where  our  hands 

Were  torn  and  soiled  by  thorn  and  grime. 
To  you  we  leave  the  Seas  and  Lands, 

And  all  the  glorious  spoils  of  Time. 

Advancing  Races,  Sons  of  men, 

How  can  ye  bear  life's  awful  stress  ? 
What  will  ye  do  with  sword  and  pen, 

And  good  and  bad,  and  more  and  less? 
When  all  our  Prophets  go  their  ways, 

And  all  our  Anthems  are  forgot, 
What  Altars  will  your  builders  raise 

To  Him  who  lives  and  changes  not? 

Ye  Legions  vast,  from  depth  and  height, 

We  beg  from  Science  chart  and  proofs, 
That  you  may  stand  in  clearest  light, 

And  sign  to  Saturn  from  your  roofs. 
The  Earth  is  prescient  now  with  sense 

Of  growing  power,  judicial  doom, 
Good  will  to  men,  Omnipotence 

That  whispers  low,  * '  Make  room !  Make  room ! ' ' 


To  the  Unborn  Peoples  99 

Ye  Peoples  of  the  future  years, 

Keep  faith  with  us,  the  elder  Ones, 
Wipe  out  the  causes  of  our  fears, 

Climb  nearer  to  the  central  Suns. 
We  go  our  way,  our  names  will  die, 

Ye  shall  not  find  them  near  or  far, 
Our  highest  spans  in  dust  will  lie 

As  low  as  Karnac's  pillars  are. 

Hail !  Hail !  ye  Peoples  yet  unborn, 

We  leave  you  all  that  Love  bequeaths; 
Our  gems  and  mines  and  field  of  corn, 

Traditions,  arts,  and  Valor's  wreaths. 
New  voices  call.    We  disappear. 

Above  our  dust  your  songs  will  swell; 
Your  banners  float, — Our  Kinsmen  dear, 

Hail!  Hail!  and  then,— Farewell,  Farewell. 


THE  PEACEMAKERS 

I  thought  I  saw,  upon  the  shining  coast, 

A  mighty  host. 
Their  eyes  were  luminous  with  joy  and  peace, 

That  would  not  cease. 
Somehow  they  seemed  more  royal  and  more  blest 

Than  all  the  rest. 
Yet  ever  did  they  wonder  that  their  names 

Met  loud  acclaims ; 
And  that  such  honor  unto  them  was  given, 

In  highest  Heaven. 
They  had  not  borne  the  banners,  in  the  strife 

Of  mortal  life. 
Their  foreheads  had  not  felt  the  touch  of  wreaths, 

Which  fame  bequeaths 
To  conquering  heroes,  as  they  homeward  march, 

Through  Victory's  arch. 

These  were  the  souls  that  when  the  strife  was 
high, 

Made  soft  reply. 
The  men  and  women,  who  could  patient  stand, 

And  make  demand 

For  peace,  peace  only,  though  their  pride  was 
crost, 

Their  dear  hopes  lost. 
100 


The  Peacemakers  101 

Oft  had  they  caught,  with  soft  and  naked  hands, 

The  flaming  brands 
Which  anger  hurled,  and  quenched  before  it  fell 

Some  fire  of  Hell. 

They  did  not  dream  how  great  their  souls  had 
grown ; 

No  sculptured  stone 
Was  piled  above  their  ashes  when  they  slept; 

But  God  had  kept 
Their  faces  in  His  sight;  He  knew  the  cost, 

When  passion-tost 
And  sorely  hurt,  they  patient  came  and  went, 

On  peace  intent. 
Now  they  are  "blessed"  evermore,  and  lo! 

Where'er  they  go, 
The  angels  look  on  them,  and  smile  and  say, 

"God's  children,  they!" 


O  HELEN,  HELEN  DEAR! 

How  lightly  up  the  winding  stair 

We  ran  together,  she  and  I ; 

And  still  I  see  her  lovely  face 

Look  downward  from  the  landing-place; 

For  she  outsped  me.    Through  the  gloom 

Of  the  great  hall,  into  her  room, 

She  led  me  on  that  summer  day, 

In  years  that  fled  too  quickly  by. 

/  pray  you,  if  you  ever  pass 
This  sunken  grave,  within  the  grass, 
Touch  tenderly  the  crumbling  stone, 
A  nd  say,  for  me,  in  undertone — 
"0  Helen,  Helen  dear!" 

How  fair  she  was,  how  straight  and  tall, 
My  Helen  in  that  far-off  day ! 
Like  living  things  that  longed  to  go, 
The  curtains  fluttered  to  and  fro, 
As  up  and  down  the  room  we  walked, 
Perhaps  of  love  and  lovers  talked, 
As  girls  have  always  done,  and  will, 
And  nothing  whispered  "yea"  or  "nay." 
102 


O  Helen,  Helen  Dear!  103 

/  pray  you,  if  you  ever  pass 
This  sunken  grave,  within  the  grass. 
Touch  tenderly  the  crumbling  stone, 
A  nd  say,  for  me,  in  undertone — 
"0  Helen,  Helen  dear!" 

What  trifling  things  the  heart  will  keep ! 
They  seem  too  simple  to  be  told. 
That  day  she  lifted  from  its  place 
A  dainty  thing  of  flowers  and  lace, 
And  held  it  up  that  I  might  see. 
O  little  bonnet,  plain  to  me, 
Your  ribbon  streams  across  the  mist, 
A  shadowy  streak  of  palest  gold ! 

/  pray  you,  if  you  ever  pass 
This  sunken  grave,  within  the  grass, 
Touch  tenderly  the  crumbling  stone, 
A  nd  say,  for  me,  in  undertone — 
"0  Helen,  Helen  dear!" 


A  SONG  OF  VICTORY 

Ring!  Ring  by  millions  all  ye  Bells! 

Ring  as  ye  never  rang  before ! 
Around  the  world  the  music  swells, 

All  nations  hear  the  glad  uproar. 
From  peak  to  peak  the  word  is  flung, 

It  leaps  like  flame  across  the  seas, 
And  never  yet  its  name  was  sung, 

In  days  as  wonderful  as  these. 

Ring!  Ring  ye  Bells  in  cities  old! 

Ring  all  ye  Bells  in  every  town  1 
Ring  loud  in  markets  manifold. 

And  over  prison  walls  that  frown 
Send  ye  the  story  of  to-day, 

The  day  that  saw  the  silent  guns 
And  saw  the  war-clouds  pass  away, 

That  all  too  long  had  hid  the  Suns. 

Ring!  all  ye  Bells!  Ring  louder  yet; 

Tell  all  the  tribes  that  Peace  has  come, 
With  happy  tears  our  eyes  are  wet, 

Tell  this !  ye  Bells  of  Christendom. 
104 


A  Song  of  Victory  105 

And  far  away,  o'er  summer  seas, 

Swing  swift  ye  Bells  of  gay  Japan, 

We  all  are  one,  in  days  like  these, 

We  sing  the  brotherhood  of  Man. 

Lift  high  your  head,  Jerusalem ! 

The  hated  war-clouds  drift  away, 
Jehovah's  breath  has  blown  on  them, 

Praise  Him  in  Synagogues  today. 
All  peoples  'neath  the  Crescent  born, 

Forget  your  wounds,  be  glad  again, 
With  flags  and  flowers  your  homes  adorn, 

Respect  the  general  joy  of  Men. 

Old  China  raise  your  reverend  head, 

Let  all  your  templed  music  swell, 
At  last  the  grandest  word  is  said, 

In  flames  around  the  rim  of  Hell 
Green  islands  anchored  and  at  ease, 

Beneath  your  palm  trees  tell  the  tale, 
Strange  peoples  in  the  zones  that  freeze, 

Fling  tidings  to  the  roaring  gale. 

Ring!    Ring  ye  Bells,  ring  near  and  far! 

The  skies  are  bright  with  rainbow  bands, 
And  Earth  forgets  her  sword  and  scar, 

And  foe  with  foe  is  clasping  hands. 
Ye  Bells  of  Time,  ring  clear  and  slow! 

White  shadows  dance  across  the  sod, 
And  listening  angels  flying  low, 

With  Alleluias  rise  to  God. 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 

"God !  God !  O  God ! "    Across  the  dark, 
And  through  the  void,  rings  out  the  cry, 

And  souls  before  Him,  standing  stark, 
Are  listening  for  a  clear  reply; 

Some  signal  flashed  from  distant  spheres, 

To  tell  them  that  He  sees  and  hears. 

' '  God !  God !  O  God ! ' '    Forevermore 
His  name  rolls  upward;  where  is  He? 

Along  what  unimagined  shore, 
Across  what  undiscovered  sea, 

Must  we  fare  forth  ?    What  wondrous  road 

Will  lead  us  to  the  King's  abode? 

1 '  God !  God !  O  God ! "    We  grow  more  bold ; 

More  love  we  crave  as  years  increase; 
More  shelters  from  the  heat  and  cold; 

More  of  Thy  pity  and  Thy  peace. 
Hold  fast  Thine  own !  from  Thee  we  came, 
As  deathless  sparks  from  central  flame. 


1 06 


ETERNITY 

O  the  clanging  bells  of  Time! 

Night  and  day  they  never  cease ; 
We  are  wearied  with  their  chime, 

For  they  do  not  bring  us  peace. 
And  we  hush  our  breath  to  hear, 

And  we  strain  our  eyes  to  see, 
If  thy  shores  are  drawing  near; 

Eternity!  Eternity! 

O  the  clanging  bells  of  Time ! 

How  their  changes  rise  and  fall ; 
But  in  undertone  sublime; 

Sounding  clearly  through  them  all 
Is  a  voice  that  must  be  heard, 

As  our  moments  onward  flee, 
And  it  speaketh  aye  one  word : 

Eternity!  Eternity! 

O  the  clanging  bells  of  Time! 

To  their  voices,  loud  and  low, 
In  a  long,  unresting  line, 

We  are  marching  to  and  fro; 
107 


io8  Eternity 

And  we  yearn  for  sight  or  sound, 

Of  the  life  that  is  to  be, 
For  thy  breath  doth  wrap  us  round; 

Eternity!  Eternity! 

O  the  clanging  bells  of  Time ! 

Soon  their  notes  will  all  be  dumb, 
And  in  joy  and  peace  sublime 

We  shall  feel  the  silence  come. 
And  our  souls  their  thirst  will  slake, 

And  our  eyes  the  King  will  see, 
When  thy  glorious  morn  shall  break, 

Eternity !  Eternity ! 


TWO  HOUSES 

I  have  built  it  strong  and  high, 

I  have  made  it  fair  and  fine; 
All  the  people  passing  by 

Stop  to  praise  this  house  of  mine. 
I  have  brought  from  far  and  near 

Rarest  things  to  fill  it  full; 
I  shall  dwell  for  many  a  year 

In  my  house  so  beautiful. 

Then  the  Soul  said:  "But  my  house 
Is  so  low  and  poor  and  small, 

Through  its  windows  dark  with  dust 
I  can  scarcely  see  at  all. 

I  must  build  a  palace  grand, 

That  eternally  will  stand." 

Ah !  my  house !  its  splendor  wanes 

All  its  lights  are  burning  low; 
Time  has  touched  it  with  its  stains, 

One  by  one  its  treasures  go. 
See!  it  trembles  to  its  fall, 

Here  is  neither  peace  nor  rest; 
In  my  mansion  fair  and  tall 

I  am  but  a  transient  guest. 
109 


no  Two  Houses 

Then  the  Soul  said:  "But  my  house 
Stands  unshaken,  white  as  snow; 

All  its  pillars  rest  in  rock, 
All  its  windows  are  aglow. 

Earth  may  vanish,  time  may  cease, 

I  shall  dwell  in  perfect  peace." 


PERSONALITY 

Thou,  helpless  babe,  whose  days  went  by, 
As  dim  as  dreams,  as  soon  forgot, 

Wert  thou  myself?  nay,  nay,  for  I 

Could  see  thy  face,  and  know  thee  not. 

Dear  child  with  hair  like  shining  flax, 
Who  sat'st  beside  my  Mother's  knee, 

Time's  shifting  sand  has  hid  thy  tracks; 
What  had  my  life  to  do  with  thee? 

And  yon  tall  girl  that  looks  afar, 

And  questions  earth  and  air  and  sea, 

And  follows  fast  her  guiding  star, — 
Dear  God,  how  far  she  is  from  me! 

In  noon's  strong  light  a  woman  stands, 
With  life's  full  pressure  on  her  laid; 

Its  curious  webs  are  in  her  hands, 
And  flushed  with  joy,  yet  half  afraid, 

She  turns  her  wondering  eyes  on  me; 

And  claims  me  yet ;  I  felt  her  needs ; — 
Up  roll  the  mists  from  land  and  sea ; 

I  onward  press,  her  form  recedes ! 
in 


H2  Personality 

Am  I  responsible  for  these? 

Far  off,  in  some  great  judgment-hall, 
Beyond  these  earthly,  storm-swept  seas, 

Must  I  make  answer  for  them  all  ? 


COME,   SWEETHEART,   COME 

Come,  sweetheart,  come !  across  the  road 

Are  the  great  rocks  that  all  must  pass; 
You  may  not  lay  aside  your  load, 

And  though  you  cry,  "Alas,  alas!" 
No  hand  may  help  you  in  this  hour; 

We  stand  aside,  you  make  your  moan, 
But  this  is  your  allotted  dower, 

This  pain  must  be  your  very  own. 

The  rocks  are  there,  so  cold  and  gray; 

Your  feet  are  tender,  they  will  bleed; 
O  sweetheart,  must  you  go  this  way? 

Our   hearts   cry    out,    "What   need?     What 

need?" 
But  come!  make  haste!  your  name  is  called; 

It  seems  in  love  and  not  in  wrath; 
Smile  now  on  us,  and  unappalled, 

Go  slowly  up  the  narrowing  path ! 

Now,  sweetheart,  turn  your  peaceful  eyes, 
The  cold,  gray  rocks  you  crossed  alone, 

Are  gleaming  fair  beneath  the  skies, 
By  vines  and  mosses  overgrown, 
s  113 


H4         Come,  Sweetheart,  Come 

Repeat  the  tale  so  often  told; 

Just  in  the  darkest,  loneliest  place, 
Your  path  became  as  burnished  gold, 

And  angels  met  you  face  to  face. 


"TRACE  THOU  THE   PATH" 

Trace  thou  the  path  which  the  eagle  took, 

The  first-formed,  glorious  one; 
Which,  from  its  birthplace  on  the  rock, 

Went  soaring  toward  the  sun. 

And  seek  and  see  if  ye  cannot  find 

On  the  ancient  eastern  shore, 
One  priceless  gem  from  the  glitt'ring  crown, 

Which  the  Queen  of  Sheba  wore, 

And  a  chord  from  the  harp  that  David  smote; 

And  a  shred  of  Tyrian  stain; 
And  a  leaf  from  the  palms  whose  boughs  were 
wet, 

By  the  first  bright  drops  of  rain. 

The  earth  and  the  air  closed  over  them ; 

They  are  fled  with  the  human  hosts ; 
They  returned  again  to  the  formless  void ; 

They  are  less  than  the  dreams  of  ghosts. 


IN   DARKENED   HOUSE 

In  darkened  house  of  common  clay, 

The  brain,  imperial,  dwells  alone; 
None  say  to  it  or  yea  or  nay, 

Or  ask  its  right  to  crown  and  throne. 
The  dull,  gray  substance  sleeps  and  wakes, 

And  wonders  why  and  whence  it  came; 
With  sense  of  self  it  throbs  and  aches ; 

A  heaving  force,  a  prisoned  flame. 
By  law  unwrit  or  sacred  sign 

It  holds  its  power — a  right  divine. 

Behold  the  king ! — how  lone  his  state ! 

But  countless  couriers  round  him  stand ; 
They  do  his  bidding  while  they  wait ; 

Or  outward  haste  at  his  command. 
Viewless  and  soundless,  up  the  height, 

While  radiant  suns  beneath  them  glow; 
With  wings  made  swift  by  sheer  delight, 

Where  mightiest  angels  only  go; 
They  speed  their  flight — what  worlds  unfold ! 

They  find  what  kings,  in  dreams,  behold! 

What  power  is  here?     What  master  grand? 
In  darkness  bound,  of  lowly  birth; 
116 


In  Darkened  House  117 

Yet  made  to  think,  and  feel,  and  stand, 

As  God's  own  Viceroy  on  the  Earth. 
The  beasts  before  him  cringe  and  creep ; 

The  ancient  mountains  bow  them  low; 
As  still  as  death,  through  oceans  deep, 

The  swift,  obedient  lightnings  go. 
Thou  brain  of  man  awake,  asleep, 

Still  art  thou  King !  Thy  Kingdom  keep. 


A  NEW  PRAYER 

Men  and  women,  long  defeated, 

Pray  a  new  prayer  on  your  knees; 
Ask  no  more  for  love  or  riches, 

Ask  no  more  for  fame  or  ease. 
Lift  your  empty  hands  to  Heaven, 

Pray  for  wisdom,  that  alone, 
Though  He  watches  worlds  in  motion, 

He  will  hear  your  faintest  tone. 
Angels  will  descend  to  help- you, 

Stone  by  stone  shall  yet  be  set, 
Slow,  persistent,  without  clamor, 
Without  sound  of  workman's  hammer, 

You  shall  build  your  temple  yet ! 


118 


AFTER   DEATH 

At  first  when  my  face  shall  be  changed,  and  I  go 
To  dwell  in  a  silence  that  cannot  be  broken, 

A  few  whom  I  love  will  lament  me,  I  know, 
And  eyes  will  be  dim  when  my  name  shall  be 
spoken. 

If  any  have  blamed  me,  their  censure  will  cease, 
For  when  the  full  light  of  eternity  flashes, 

There's  nothing  to  do  but  to  whisper  of  peace, 
And  no  one  can  war  with  a  handful  of  ashes. 

But  O  to  be  gone  from  the  home  that  was  mine; 

With  no  more  a  share  in  its  joys  or  its  sorrow; 
My  part  in  its  plans  to  forever  resign, 

No  thought  of  to-day  and  no  care  for  to 
morrow. 

All  this  is  beyond  me.     How  strange  it  will  be 

To  go  on  a  journey  that  has  no  returning, 
With  year  after  year  speeding  on  without  me 
To  gladden  or  grieve  when  the  sunsets  are 
burning ! 

119 


120  After  Death 

The  children  will  lean  their  light  weight  on  the 

stone, 
To  spell  out  my  name  and  to  question  and 

wonder 

What  'tis  to  lie  there  in  the  darkness  alone, 
Through  moonlight,  and  starlight,  and  rolling 
of  thunder. 

But  then,  in  a  moment,  some  butterfly  gay, 
Will  hover  above  them  and  chide  their  delay 
ing; 

With  beautiful  wings  it  will  lure  them  away, 
And  they  will  forget  what  the  stone  has  been 
saying. 

But  I  shall  lie  patiently  there  in  my  place, 
The  slumber  a  part  of  my  life  and  my  story ; 

Till  some  time  the  morning  will  flash  in  my  face, 
And  I  shall  awake  to  its  gladness  and  glory. 


A   DRIVE  AT   NICE 

The  sea  below  the  olive  trees, 

Was  glittering  in  the  sun 

And  almond  blossoms  to  the  breeze 

Were  wafted,  one  by  one. 

No  cloud  in  all  the  blue  above 

Its  shade  above  us  cast ; 

The  palm  trees,  as  with  human  love, 

Waved  blessings  as  we  passed. 

Above  the  stately  villa  walls, 

We  saw  the  roses  climb; 

And  sounds  of  distant  waterfalls 

Made  music  all  the  time. 

And  often,  as  we  laughed  and  talked, 

And  loved  a  world  so  wide, 

Our  pleasant  driver  slowly  walked, 

And  stroked  his  horse's  side. 

Well  pleased  to  hear  us  praise  the  scene, 
He  bade  us  turn  our  glance 
On  ancient  Alps,  that  stood  serene, 
To  guard  the  land  of  France. 
Sometimes  we  passed  a  soldier  gay; 
Again,  a  beggar  whined, 

121 


122  A  Drive  at  Nice 

And  oft,  in  niches  by  the  way, 
Christ's  Mother  sat  enshrined! 

Beside  our  wheels  the  children  ran, 
They  ran  for  miles  and  miles; 
Small  strangers  in  our  transient  plan, 
They  gave  us  welcoming  smiles, 
With  Parma  violets  lifted  high 
To  halt  our  swift  advance — 
What  could  we  do  but  buy  and  buy 
The  fragrant  flowers  of  France? 

We  passed  the  gay  mimosa  trees, 

Could  earth  itself  be  old, 

When  yellow  blooms  as  sweet  as  these, 

Cried  out — behold!  behold! 

We  pilgrims,  wandering  from  the  west, 

Who  searched  for  joy  and  peace; 

Was  this  the  ending  of  our  quest, 

This  road  that  led  from  Nice? 

We  passed  the  forts  of  primal  rock, 
High  lifted,  stern,  and  gray, 
Unheard  by  them  Time's  awful  clock 
Ticked  centuries  away. 
Familiar  with  the  shouting  seas, 
Their  silence  mocked  their  roar; 
In  league  with  God's  own  mysteries, 
They  served  Him  evermore. 


A   GLEAM   OF   CRIMSON 

(Her  dress  on  that  day  was  of  a  most  noble  color,  a  sub 
dued  and  goodly  crimson,  girdled  and  adorned  in  such  sort 
as  best  suited  with  her  tender  age. — Dante's  Vita  Nuova.) 

Where  old  Florence  sits  majestic, 

With  her  treasures  round  her  spread, 
Whispering  to  herself,  and  asking 

Endless  honor  for  her  dead ; 
There,  within  the  halls  of  silence 

Kept  for  memories  and  for  dreams, 
Lo!  a  hue  of  softest  crimson 

Through  the  shadow  always  gleams. 

Ah!  that  festa  by  the  Arno! 

Neighbors  gathering,  young  and  gay, 
Singing,  dancing,  speaking  praises 

Of  their  lovely  Tuscan  May; 
And,  among  them  Beatrice, 

Gentle,  serious,  in  her  place; 
Guessing  not  her  future  story, 

Nor  the  sweetness  of  her  face. 

Unremembered  are  her  features ; 
All  the  eyes  with  joy  aglow 
123 


124  A  Gleam  of  Crimson 

On  that  fateful  eve  in  Florence, 
Darkened,  centuries  ago; 

But  forever,  clothed  in  crimson, 
Must  a  little  phantom  dance, 

And  a  color,  rare  and  fadeless, 
Glow  in  Dante's  sad  romance. 


THE   BARS   OF   FATE 

I  stood  before  the  bars  of  Fate 

And  bowed  my  head  disconsolate; 

So  high  they  seemed,  so  fierce  their  frown, 

I  thought  no  hand  could  break  them  down. 

Beyond  them  I  could  hear  the  songs 
Of  valiant  men  who  marched  in  throngs; 
And  joyful  women,  fair  and  free, 
Looked  back  and  waved  their  hands  to  me. 

I  did  not  cry  "Too  late!  Too  late!" 
Nor  strive  to  rise,  or  rail  at  Fate, 
Nor  pray  to  God.     My  coward  heart, 
Contented,  played  its  foolish  part. 

So  still  I  sat,  the  tireless  bee 
Sped  o'er  my  head  with  scorn  for  me, 
And  birds  who  built  their  nests  in  air 
Beheld  me,  as  I  were  not  there. 

From  twig  to  twig,  before  my  face 
The  spiders  wove  their  curious  lace, 
As  they  a  curtain  fine  would  see 
Between  the  hindering  bars  and  me. 
125 


126  The  Bars  of  Fate 

Then  sudden  change!     I  heard  the  call 
Of  wind  and  wave  and  waterfall; 
From  heaven  above  and  earth  below 
Came  clear  command — "Arise  and  go!" 

I  upward  sprang  in  all  my  strength, 
And  stretched  my  eager  hands  at  length 
To  break  the  bars — no  bars  were  there; 
My  fingers  fell  through  empty  air ! 


LITTLE   PEOPLE 

Forgive  me,  my  brothers  and  sisters, 

Little  people  who  live  in  the  grass, 
So  heedless  was  I  of  your  presence, 

But  now  I  am  crying  ' '  Alas ! ' ' 
Lamenting  my  deafness  and  blindness, 

And  wishing  I  better  had  known 
My  neighbors,  the  peaceable  creatures 

Whose  homes  were  so  near  to  my  own. 

I  wish  I  had  lingered  in  passing, 

And  lifted  the  leaves  of  the  field, 
And  watched  you  run  hither  and  thither 

In  paths  which  the  grasses  concealed. 
I  wish  that  my  fingers  had  touched  you 

And  made  you  look  up  at  a  friend, 
Though  you  were  so  tiny  and  transient, 

And  I — of  the  world  without  end ! 

I  wish  you  had  told  me  your  story, 
And  I  could  have  told  you  my  own; 

How  sweet  would  have  been  our  communion 
In  hours  that  were  weary  and  lone. 
127 


128  Little  People 

I  shall  go,  I  shall  flee  like  a  shadow, 
I  shall  answer  the  voices  that  call, 

And  you  with  your  homes  in  the  grasses, 
Will  never  have  loved  me  at  all. 


LOVE   AND   HATE 

Said  Love  to  Hate,  "I  shall  destroy  you  yet; 

Around  my  throne  your  servitors  shall  stand 
To  gaze  on  me,  till  they  your  name  forget, 

And  you,  yourself,  shall  bid  my  foes  disband." 


129 


LOVERS 

The  white  rose  and  the  red  rose, 

Either  side  the  garden  gate, 
Though  in  love  with  one  another, 

Were  so  sadly  separate, 
But  when  summer-time  was  ended, 

They  no  longer  were  alone, 
For  their  faded  leaves  together 

To  the  sodden  turf  were  blown. 


130 


THE   EAGLE'S   BROOD 

Some  day  when  the  Eagle  leaves  her  nest 

To  search  the  shore  for  food, 
We'll  climb  to  the  mountain's  rocky  crest 

To  gaze  at  the  callow  brood. 

But  we  may  not  stay,  and  we  must  beware 
When  the  Eagle  homeward  flies, 

For  we  are  weak,  and  we  could  not  bear 
The  wrath  in  the  Eagle's  eyes. 


131 


FAREWELL 
(To  T.  O.  C.) 

Now,  at  the  last,  he  lies  here,  cold  and  breathless; 

No  place  for  care  within  this  peaceful  breast. 
Joyful  and  swift,  and  at  his  King's  commanding, 

His  soul  goes  forward  on  its  endless  quest. 

Patient  and  kind,  he  served  his  generation ; 

Lost  not  his  road  in  earth's  bewildering  maze. 
We  bend  our  heads  in  silent  salutation 

And  brief  farewell,  and  go  our  separate  ways. 

February  2,  1914. 


132 


THE   GREAT   WHEEL 

My  life  is  filled  with  little  wheels, 

And  if  I  sleep  or  wake 
They  still  revolve;  so  small  they  are, 

No  sound  at  all  they  make. 

At  times  the  dust  will  clog  them  so, 
They  falter  in  the  grooves. 

I  cannot  tell  the  thing  to  do — 
There's  scarce  a  wheel  that  moves. 

But  always,  far  behind  them  all, 

And  as  to  glorious  song, 
One  mighty  wheel  serenely  turns, 

I've  known  it  all  life  long. 

It  cannot  swerve,  exact  and  smooth, 
It  spins  my  thread  of  fate; 

I  may  not  touch  it  with  my  hands, 
I  can  but  work  and  wait. 


i33 


APART 

You  were  my  friend;  I  watch  you  go, 
Slow  climbing  up  the  height ; 

I  wander  through  the  vale  below, 
But  still  I  keep  in  sight 

Your  shining  raiment;  as  a  star 

You  gleam  among  the  hills  afar. 

In  days  that  into  mist  withdrew, 
You  walked  and  talked  with  me; 

I  all  your  happy  visions  knew, 
All  that  you  meant  to  be 

In  that  "to-morrow,"  which  unrolled, 

Before  your  eyes  its  blue  and  gold. 

Somehow,  somewhere,  I  know  not  when, 

I  missed  you  from  my  side; 
You  never  will  come  back  again, 

I  think  if  you  had  died, 
The  grave  itself,  though  dark  and  drear, 
Would  not  have  been  so  distant,  dear. 


i34 


IN   THE   FOG 

Am  I  left  alone?     Has  the  whole  world  gone 
But  the  one  small  spot  that  I  stand  upon? 
Was  there  nothing  real  ?     Were  the  hills  a  dream  ? 
Did  never  the  dew  of  the  morning  gleam? 

I  grope  in  the  fog  like  a  blinded  man 
Who  has  missed  his  way.     I  have  lost  the  plan 
Of  the  world  I  knew.     O  where,  I  pray, 
Are  the  fields  I  walked  in  yesterday? 

Out  there  at  morn,  on  a  bough,  low-hung, 

An  oriole's  nest,  in  the  breezes  swung; 

I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  self -same  spot, 

But  the  bough  and  the  bird  and  the  nest  are  not. 

Were  the  damask  rose  and  ivy  green 
But  phantoms  cast  on  a  phantom  screen? 
Were  the  tinted  shells  on  the  sunlit  shore 
What  rainbows  are  when  the  storms  are  o'er? 

And  the  friends  I  loved — have  I  lost  them  all  ? 
In  the  fog's  assault  did  their  castles  fall? 
I  send  their  names  with  a  lonesome  cry 
Through  a  cold  gray  wall,  but  there's  no  reply. 
135 


GIFTS 

I  used  to  send  you  gifts,  my  dear, 

And  your  gifts  came  to  me. 
On  Christmas  Day  what  light  and  cheer 

Within  our  homes  would  be. 

But  now,  if  I  should  speak  your  name, 
No  answer  would  come  back, 

Although  your  memory,  like  a  flame, 
Lights  all  my  earthly  track. 

You  fled  so  fast,  you  fled  so  far, 

Your  path  I  fail  to  trace; 
But  oft  I  wonder  where  you  are, 

In  old,  star-lighted  space. 

O  take  my  love,  immortal  friend, 

My  Christmas  gift  to  thee, 
And  out  of  glory,  somehow,  send 

Your  own  dear  love  to  me. 

Christmas,  1912. 


136 


ILLUSIONS 

Dear  things,  I  watch  you  flying 

Far  off  across  the  sea; 
You  are  not  dead  or  dying, 

You  simply  died  to  me. 
But  still  in  life's  December, 

My  heart  leaps  up  and  sings, 
For  I  with  joy  remember 

The  coloring  of  your  wings. 


i37 


PERSONAL   DESIRES 

For  Light  and  Air  and  Space  I  ask 

And  roads  that  upward  climb ; 
And  heart  and  hand  to  do  my  task, 

And  Silence  half  the  time. 

Space,  Light,  and  Air,  and  Sun,  and  Star, 
And  Moons  that  reach  their  prime, 

And  eyes  to  see  where  Angels  are 
In  these  low  lands  of  Time. 

Light,  Space,  and  Air,  and  children  gay, 

Who  love  To-morrow's  face, 
And  laugh  at  Sorrow's  garments  gray, 

And  tire  not  in  the  race. 

Space,  Light,  and  Air,  and  Hope  that  saves 

And  webs  to  music  spun, 
And  crosses  set  by  lonesome  graves, 

When  Earth's  sad  wars  are  done. 

Light,  Air,  and  Space,  and  Spices  rare, 

And  dim  uncharted  Isles 
With  sounding  shells  and  blossoms  fair, 

Where  harbors  stretch  for  miles. 
138 


Personal  Desires  139 

Peace,  Light,  and  Air,  these  three,  I  ask, 

And  not  these  transient  things, 
That  vex  my  soul,  and  halt  my  task, 

And  break  my  wearied  wings. 

Light,  Space,  and  Air,  and  hill  and  glen, 

And  end  of  ooze  and  grime, 
And  music  making  love  to  men, 

And  Sagas,  old  as  Time. 

Space,  Light,  and  Air,  and  Solitude, 

To  sit  as  still  as  stone, 
And  whisper  low — My  God  is  good, 

Though  worlds  are  overthrown. 

Space,  Light,  and  Air,  and  fearless  eyes, 
That  watch  the  gathering  throng, 

While  Saints  sing  loud  of  Paradise, 
And  praise  Him  all  day  long. 

Space,  Light,  and  Air,  and  story-books, 

And  legends  told  in  rhyme, 
And  flocks  and  herds  and  running  brooks, 

And  Heaven  in  God's  good  time. 

Then  faltering  feet,  and  long  release 

From  all  that  tires  me  so, 
And  widening  skies  and  psalms  of  Peace, 

As  forth  from  earth  I  go. 


140  Personal  Desires 

My  last  Desires — dear  home  and  friends, 

And  one  great  love  to  last, 
To  be  my  own,  when  dreaming  ends, 

And  Earth's  strange  tale  is  past. 


STRENGTH 

Our  strength  is  greater  than  we  dare  to  think 
We  turn  our  heads  and  whisper  no !  no !  no ! 
From  this  dark  cup,  we  may  not,  will  not  drink, 
No  man  was  born  to  taste  such  wine  of  woe, 
Then  draws  the  cup  more  near  our  tightening 

lips, 

Prest  close  to  them  by  hard,  resistless  hand, 
Then  wondrous  change  and  hard  to  understand, 
New  vigor  steals  through  our  astonished  frame, 
Old  wounds  are  healed,  more  glad  and  young  we 

grow, 

The  desert  waste  is  blossoming  with  the  rose, 
Up  longer  roads  with  singing  lips  we  go. 


141 


THE   SEA 

Thou  wandering  waste  of  water, 

Thou  thing  of  many  moods, 
Thou  hast  no  dusty  highways, 

No  crowded  neighborhoods. 
Is  land  illusion  only  ? 

Our  very  senses  swim. 
There's  water,  water,  water, 

To  far  horizon  rim. 

Transcendent  beauty  claims  thee, 

For  all  thy  noise  and  wrath, 
We  love  thy  lonesome  grandeur, 

We  love  the  foaming  path 
That  closes  up  behind  us, 

And  leaves  no  single  trace, 
No  source  of  sob  or  laughter, 

No  hint  of  form  or  face. 

The  clouds  that  gather  o'er  thee, 
Salute  thee  as  they  pass, 

Thou  art  from  everlasting 
Their  glorious  looking-glass. 
142 


The  Sea  143 

The  rainbows  in  their  splendor, 

The  meteors  as  they  flee, 
And  wheeling  constellations, 

Behold  themselves  in  thee. 

Old  sea,  we  whisper  softly 

The  names  of  friends  we  lost; 
Can'st  keep  them  sleeping  soundly 

In  chambers  tempest-tost  ? 
Be  kind  to  them,  we  pray  thee, 

Above  their  graves  forlorn 
Chant  psalms  of  sounding  trumpets 

At  resurrection  morn ! 


REMEMBERED   MIRTH 

You,  you,  my  friend,  who  were  so  kind  and  gay, 
Who,  if  we  wept,  could  laugh  our  tears  away, 
Do  you  still  smile?     Enwrapt  by  heaven's  con 
tent, 

Does  aught  remain  of  earth's  old  merriment? 
Forgive  me,  Dear,  though  many  years  have  sped, 
I  laugh  to-day,  remembering  things  you  said. 


144 


RENUNCIATION 

No  word  of  love  I  say  to  her, 
No  step  do  I  delay  for  her, 

But  ever  as  I  go, 

I  cry,  dear  Lord,  take  care  of  her, 
Her  heavy  burden  bear  for  her, 

And  some  day  let  her  know, 
That  all  my  being  cried  for  her, 
Though  now  I  seem  to  hide  from  her, 

Her  face  I  always  miss. 
Whatever  life  may  bring  to  her, 
My  heart  will  always  cling  to  her, 

In  mercy  tell  her  this ! 


MYSELF 

Myself  must  cross  the  bridge  that  sways 

With  half  its  timbers  gone, 
Ere  I  can  call  to  him  who  stays, 

"  Make  haste !     Come  on !     Come  on ! " 


146 


MAN   AND   THE  SUN 

He  creeps  from  out  a  darkened  place 
To  gaze  at  God's  great  Sun; 

Its  glory  sweeps  across  his  face, 
And  all  that  he  has  done, 

Or  failed  to  do,  and  numbered  days, 
And  living  things,  and  dead, 

Are  naught  to  him,  so  clear  the  blaze 
That  fills  the  arch  o'erhead. 

His  life  becomes  a  singing  chord, 

In  light  his  senses  swim ; 
He  thinks  creation's  silent  Lord 

Is  flashing  signs  to  him. 


147 


TO 


I  shall  not  cry  Return !  Return ! 

Nor  weep  my  years  away, 
But  just  as  long  as  sunsets  burn, 

And  dawns  make  no  delay, 
I  shall  be  lonesome,  I  shall  miss 
Your  hand,  your  voice,  your  smile,  your  kiss. 

Not  often  shall  I  speak  your  name, 

For  what  would  strangers  care, 
That  once  a  sudden  tempest  came 

And  swept  my  gardens  bare, 
And  then  you  passed,  and  in  your  place 
Stood  Silence  with  her  lifted  face. 

Not  always  shall  this  parting  be, 

For  though  I  travel  slow, 
I,  too,  may  claim  eternity, 

And  find  the  way  you  go; 
And  so  I  do  my  task  and  wait 
The  opening  of  the  outer  gate. 


148 


THE   VOID 

We  dream  of  circles  vast,  enlarging  evermore, 
And  wheels  that  turn,  perpetual  as  the  moon, 

And  soundless  seas,  unhindered  by  a  shore, 
And  one  white  day,  forever  at  high  noon. 

But  thou,  the  Void,  what  thought,  flung  into 

thee, 
Can  tremble  downward  through  the  darkness 

old 

To  find  that  point  where  nothing  else  can  be 
But  shapeless  space,  and  silence  and  the  cold  ? 

Comes  the  long  Last,  when  with  thy  doom  ful 
filled, 

The  awful  aeons,  traveling  sure  and  slow, 
Take  thee  for  spoil,  and  glorious  light  be  spilled, 

And  seeds  of  worlds  within  thee  float  and  grow. 


149 


WHEN 

When  we  have  lived  our  little  lives, 

And  learned  of  life  and  death ; 
And  known  alternate  joy  and  pain, 
And  seen  the  sunlight  and  the  rain, 
And  trod  the  mountain-top  and  plain, 

In  different  zones  of  earth ; 

When  we  have  learned  what  love  is  like, 

And  felt  what  hate  can  do, 
And  watched  the  rose,  so  dear  and  sweet, 
Fall  dead  and  faded  at  our  feet, 
And  heard  the  clock  the  hours  repeat 

Till  all  our  years  are  through ; 

Then  wilt  Thou  lift  us,  Lord,  to  Thee, 

And  show  us  from  the  height, 
What  Thou  didst  mean,  when  Thou  didst  make 
The  cooing  dove,  and  poison  snake, 
And  plant  the  nightshade,  and  the  brake, 

And  set  them  all  in  sight  ? 


150 


THE   WAY 

Tell  me,  O  God,  is  this  the  way, 

The  path  my  feet  must  take? 
Around  my  feet  Thy  lightnings  play 

And  Earth's  foundations  shake — 
The  fragile  framework  of  my  life 

Is  shaken  to  and  fro, 
The  winds  are  cutting  like  a  knife 

Whichever  way  I  go ! 

Too  many  tongues  are  calling  me, 

Too  loud  the  singers  sing ! 
What  fate  is  this  befalling  me? 

Thy  bells  too  loudly  ring ! 
My  castles  crumble  one  by  one, 

Bright  bubbles  soar  and  break, 
Strange  figures  standing  in  the  Sun 

Cry  to  my  soul — Awake ! 

I  hear  them  and  I  answer — Yes. 

I  try  to  lift  my  eyes, 
To  find  in  all  this  wilderness 

One  truth  that  signifies. 


152  The  Way 

Reach  me  Thy  hand,  most  holy  One, 

I  am  too  blind  to  see, 
Through  midnight  or  the  blazing  noon, 

My  God,  remember  me ! 


LOSSES 

If  all  the  losses  of  the  years, 

The  things  which  you  have  missed  so  long, 
And  mourned  with  unavailing  tears, 

Came  trooping  back,  with  dance  and  song, 
And  stood  expectant  at  your  door, 

Would  you  receive  them  back  once  more? 


THE   MARBLE   HOUSE 

This  is  a  curious  house  indeed; 

No  person  stands  in  sight; 
And  all  have  everything  they  need, 

If  it  be  day  or  night. 

And  no  one  asks  another  one 

If  he  be  ill  or  well ; 
And  no  one  speaks  of  work  begun, 

Or  has  a  tale  to  tell. 

And  no  one  sings  a  pleasant  song, 
And  love  no  more  may  plead 

Forgiveness  for  a  word  of  wrong, 
Or  some  too  careless  deed. 

A  watcher  stands  by  day  and  night 
And  leans  against  the  door; 

The  sunbeams  through  the  tinted  glass 
Make  rainbows  on  the  floor. 

There  is  one  window  and  one  door 
In  this  most  peaceful  home ; 

And  they  who  dwell  here  ask  no  more 
Through  wider  fields  to  roam. 


The  Marble  House  155 

A  lonesome  name  is  plainly  writ 

Across  the  lintel  high , 
One  word — you  scarce  would  notice  it 

If  you  were  passing  by. 

And  rose  may  bloom  and  snow  may  drift, 

But  pink  or  white  the  lawn, 
No  lip  will  move,  no  eyelid  lift, 

No  curtain  be  withdrawn. 


EARLIER  POEMS 


157 


RECOGNITION 

O   Nature,   my   Mother,   how  thoughtless  and 
careless 

Was  I  of  thy  love  in  the  times  that  are  past ; 
But  awake,  and  aware  of  thy  wonderful  kindness, 

I  lean  my  tired  head  on  thy  bosom  at  last. 

Thy  rivers  went  singing  between  their  green 
borders, 

But  all  their  low  music  was  nothing  to  me ; 
My  life  was  so  young,  I  was  taking  my  orders, 

My  fancies  went  swifter  than  waves  to  the  sea. 

The  peaks  of  the  mountains  were  pleading  for 

notice; 
The  stars  were  my  friends,  and  they  called 

from  the  sky; 
The  winds  at  my  windows  were  knocking  like 

fingers;— 
O  where  was  my  heart  that  it  could  not  reply? 

Come  haste  thou  to  me,  most  Merciful  Mother, 
Bidding  me  rest  in  thy  beauty  and  calm; 

Taking  my  part,  and,  as  something  akin  to  me, 
Healing  my  hurts  with  beneficent  balm. 
i59 


160  Recognition 

Nature,  thou  kind  one,  I  love  thee  and  praise 
thee; 

In  sunshine  or  shadow,  in  silence  or  sound 
I  creep  to  thy  arms.     Like  an  Indian  hunter, 

I  list  for  thy  voice  with  my  ear  to  the  ground. 


AT  NOONDAY 

O  friends,  dear  friends!  what  mean  these  sober 
faces  ? 

The  children  dance  around  us,  free  as  air, 
But  more  and  more,  there  comes  into  our  faces 

A  wearied  look,  and  we  are  grown  aware 
Of  solemn  changes  that  are  stealing  o'er  us, 

For  O  the  years!  they  make  their  stern  de 
mands. 
What  can  we  do  ? — the  way  is  short  before  us, 

And  closer,  closer  we  are  clasping  hands. 

We  scarcely  knew  when  the  sweet  morn  departed ; 

A  wondrous  light  was  over  earth  and  sky, 
And  on  we  sped,  careless  and  happy-hearted, 

Nor  answer  made  to  her  "Good-bye,  good 
bye." 
We  miss  her  now,  the  changeful  years  endear  her, 

Through  golden  mists  we  watch  her  where  she 

stands ; 
She  looks  and  smiles,  but  never  will  come  nearer, 

Then  closer,  closer  let  us  clasp  our  hands. 

We  thought  the  sun  was  standing  still  above  us, 
A  changeless  thing,  safe  anchored  in  the  sky; 
ii  161 


1 62  At  Noonday 

It  moves  at  last,  and  now,  if  any  love  us, 
We  call  to  them  "Noon,  too,  is  passing  by!" 

Along  the  grasses  do  our  shadows  lengthen, 
The  winds  blow  fresh  from  undiscovered  lands; 

Now,    now    indeed,     all    tender    ties    should 

strengthen, 
And  closer,  closer  we  are  clasping  hands. 

The  song  of  birds  is  sweet  and  sweeter  growing, 

The  rainbows  bend  more  brightly  in  the  sky ; 
We  slowly  walk,  but  we  are  surely  going 

Through  wider  gateways,  as  the  years  go  by. 
O  little  children!  dance  and  sing  around  us, 

Not  one  of  you  our  story  understands ; 
We   have   borne   crosses,    many   crowns   have 
crowned  us; 

And  closer,  closer  we  are  clasping  hands. 

Our  ranks  are  broken,  but  we  follow,  follow, 

Along  the  paths  that  every  foot  must  tread; 
The  Heavens  are  near  when  earth  is  ringing 

hollow ; 

Why  should  we  mourn  or  be  disquieted  ? 
O  friends,  dear  friends,  come  nearer  still  and 

nearer ! 
Love  wears  her  crown  and  strengthens  all  her 

bands ; 

Your  faces  glow,  your  names  are  growing  dearer, 
And  closer,  closer  let  us  clasp  our  hands! 


SEPTEMBER  THIRTIETH 

It  is  true,  my  heart  is  heavy,  for  the  summer  days 

are  flying, 
The  frost  has  touched  the  roses  and  they  wither 

on  the  stem; 
Pinks,  pansies,  and  forget-me-nots,  they  all  are 

dead  or  dying, 
I  hear  the  cruel  north-wind  go  sweeping  over 

them. 

And  my  precious  morning-glories,  in  their  purple 
splendor  growing, 

Looking  through  their  leafy  lattice,  all  the  world 
was  fresh  and  fair 

And  I  loved  to  stand  beside  them  when  the  east 
ern  sky  was  glowing, 

For  they  cheered  me  like  an  anthem,  and  they 
calmed  me  like  a  prayer. 

But  to-day  I  look  upon  them  and  behold  their 

glory  waning, 
The  cold  rains  beat  upon  them,  they  are  shaken 

to  and  fro; 

163 


1 64  September  Thirtieth 

They  seem  to  me  like  human  souls  in  awful  strait 

complaining, 
As  low  they  cry  "Good-bye,  good-bye,  into  the 

dust  we  go." 

Good-bye,  good-bye,  I  answer  them,  my  summer 
too  is  fleeting. 

I  miss  the  glow  and  glamour  that  the  spring 
time  only  knows, 

Across  my  pathway  I  can  see  the  autumn  shadows 
creeping, 

And  though  a  thousand  years  to  come  may  bud 
and  blossom  the  rose, 

And  all  the  flowers  may  come  and  go,  a  gay 

procession  bringing 
The  freshness  of  the  younger  years,  the  grasses 

wet  with  dew, 
The  pink  blooms  on  the  apple  trees  with  birds 

among  them  singing, 
And  fleecy  clouds,  like  angel  wings,  soft  floating 

through  the  blue; 

Yet  I  may  be  so  far  away  beyond  the  earth's  dim 

border; 
So  thick  a  veil  may  hang  between  these  mortal 

days  and  me, 
How  do  I  know  if  I  shall  mark  the  seasons  in 

their  order, 
Or  gladden  when  the  winds  blow  warm  across 

the  land  and  sea? 


September  Thirtieth  165 

And  though  within  the  wondrous  world  to  which 

my  soul  is  going, 
Are  lips  forever  smiling  sweet  and  hearts  forever 

young, 
And  in  the  gracious  atmosphere  fair  blossoms 

always  blowing, 
And  "Glory,  glory,  glory"  is  the  song  forever 

sung; 

Yet  I  cannot  help  but  sorrow  when  the  summer 

days  are  going, 
I  seek  the  sunny  places,  and  I  love  them  more 

and  more, 
And  dear  and  dearer  still  to  me  these  simple 

things  are  growing — 
The  vines  that  shade  the  windows  and  the  flowers 

beside  the  door. 


A   STORM   AT   NIGHT 

The  gas-lights  flicker  in  the  rain, 

The  wind  comes  roaring  down  the  street, 

And  wrestling  with  the  storm  amain, 
The  door-yard  trees,  like  souls  in  pain, 

Our  human  sympathies  entreat. 

The  sky  is  black  with  warring  clouds 
And  all  his  thunders  mutter  low, 

While  here  and  there,  like  fiery  brands 
From  the  Almighty's  open  hands, 

The  leaping  lightnings  go. 

'Mid  such  an  awful  storm  at  night, 
While  all  creation  groans  around, 

All  earth  and  time  sink  out  of  sight ! 
As  thought  on  thought,  in  solemn  flight, 

Goes  yearning  up  the  dim  profound. 

How  hushed  are  all  our  passions  now ! 

Ambition's  fever  dies  away, 
Strength  takes  the  helmet  from  her  brow, 

And  sitting  in  the  ashes  low, 
Pride  blushes  over  yesterday. 
1 66 


A  Storm  at  Night  167 

The  soul  looks  through  the  vague  expanse, 
And  stirs  her  chain,  and  tries  her  wings, 

And  often  with  a  fleeting  glance, 
Beholds  her  high  inheritance, 

Among  the  everlasting  things. 

Rave!  rave  ye  winds  o'er  sea  and  land! 

Our  pulses  to  your  music  throb; 
Through  Nature's  temple,  vast  and  grand, 

Peal  on !  and  make  us  understand, 
The  awful  immanence  of  God. 


LITTLE   MISS  FANNY 

Little  Miss  Fanny  has  fallen  asleep, 

No  need  to  step  softly,  her  slumber  is  deep ; 

'Twas  just  at  the  dawning,  she  called  to  us  low, 
And  whispered  "Good-bye,  I  am  ready  to  go, 

I  lean  on  the  arm  of  the  Mighty,  and  He 

My  Guide  through  the  valley  of  shadows  will 
be." 

So  she  passed  on  before  us;  the  great  world 

around 
Is   throbbing   and  calling,   she  hears  not   a 

sound : 

Her  work  is  all  ended,  the  rise  and  the  fall 
Of  life's  tidal  waters  she  heeds  not  at  all. 
O,  strangest  of  all  things !  when  over  her  breast 
These  pale  slender  fingers  in  idleness  rest. 

How  much  we  shall  miss  her;  a  hundred  might  go 

From  wide,  shining  circles  of  fashion  and  show, 

And  the  world  be  no  poorer  in  goodness  or  trust, 

In  patience  or  meekness,  but  O,  when  this  dust 

Unto  dust  shall  be  rendered!  how  many  will 

say, 

"  A  cloud  has  come  over  the  face  of  the  day." 
168 


Little  Miss  Fanny  169 

She  was  always  so  earnest,  so  kind  and  so  true, 

So  patient  with  others,  so  ready  to  do 
The   work   that   lay   nearest   her,    taking   her 

place, 

With  so  willing  a  heart  and  so  smiling  a  face, 
That  oft  when  the  heart  of  the  stoutest  would 

fail, 

She  would  stand  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  and 
prevail. 

How  much  she  has  suffered!  the  griefs  she  has 

known 

Were  whispered  in  secret  to  Jesus  alone, 
And  hope's  blessed  song-birds  would  soar  like  the 

lark, 

Til  dear  little  Fanny  could  sing  in  the  dark, 
For,   somehow,   there  flourished  wherever  she 

went, 
The  beautiful  blossoms  of  joy  and  content. 

We  look  on  her  features,  'tis  true,  they  are  plain, 
They  are  wrinkled  with  years,  and  disfigured 

by  pain, 
But  we  loved  her  so  well,  that  no  painter  could 

trace 

With  softest  of  colors,  so  pleasant  a  face 
For  us  to  look  on,  as  this  statue  of  clay, 

This  picture  of  peace  that  we   watch   o'er 
to-day. 


170  Little  Miss  Fanny 

In  the  quiet  room  yonder,  while  memories  crowd, 
Two  neighboring  women  are  making  a  shroud ; 
'Tis  only  of  muslin — not  costly  and  rare 

Is  the  robe,  that  in  death,  little  Fanny  will 

wear, 
But  the  women  are  smiling;  they  think,  as  they 

sew, 
Of  the  wonderful  robe  that  is  whiter  than  snow. 


BREAD   UPON   THE   WATERS 

Mid  the  losses  and  the  gains, 

Mid  the  pleasures  and  the  pains, 

And  the  hopings  and  the  fears, 
And  the  restlessness  of  years ; 

We  repeat  this  promise  o'er, 

We  believe  it  more  and  more : 

Bread  upon  the  waters  cast 

Shall  be  gathered  at  the  last. 

Gold  and  silver,  like  the  sands, 

Will  keep  slipping  through  our  hands ; 

Jewels,  gleaming  like  a  spark, 
Will  be  hidden  in  the  dark; 

Sun  and  moon  and  stars  will  pale; 

But  these  words  shall  never  fail : 

Bread  upon  the  waters  cast 

Shall  be  gathered  at  the  last. 

Soon  like  dust  to  you  and  me, 
Will  our  earthly  treasures  be; 

But  the  loving  word  and  deed, 
To  another  in  his  need, 
171 


172  Bread  Upon  the  Waters 

They  will  unforgotten  be, 
They  will  live  eternally : 
Bread  upon  the  waters  cast 
Shall  be  gathered  at  the  last. 

Fast  the  moments  slip  away, 
Soon  our  mortal  powers  decay, 

Low  and  lower  sinks  the  sun, 
What  we  do  must  soon  be  done; 

Then  what  rapture  if  we  hear, 
Countless  voices  ringing  clear : 

Bread  upon  the  waters  cast 

Shall  be  gathered  at  the  last. 


YOUR   MISSION 

If  you  cannot  on  the  ocean 

Sail  among  the  swiftest  fleet, 
Rocking  on  the  highest  billows, 

Laughing  at  the  storms  you  meet ; 
You  can  stand  among  the  sailors, 

Anchored  yet  within  the  bay, 
You  can  lend  a  hand  to  help  them, 

As  they  launch  their  boats  away. 

If  you  are  too  weak  to  journey 

Up  the  mountain,  steep  and  high, 
You  can  stand  within  the  valley 

While  the  multitudes  go  by; 
You  can  chant  in  happy  measure 

As  they  slowly  pass  along — 
Though  they  may  forget  the  singer, 

They  will  not  forget  the  song. 

If  you  have  not  gold  and  silver 
Ever  ready  at  command; 

If  you  cannot  toward  the  needy 
Reach  an  ever  open  hand; 
i73 


174  Your  Mission 

You  can  visit  the  afflicted, 
O'er  the  erring  you  can  weep, 

With  the  Saviour's  true  disciples, 
You  a  tireless  watch  may  keep. 

If  you  cannot  in  the  harvest 

Garner  up  the  richest  sheaves, 
Many  a  grain,  both  ripe  and  golden, 

Oft  the  carelesss  reapter  leaves ; 
Go  and  glean  among  the  briars 

Growing  rank  against  the  wall, 
For  it  may  be  that  their  shadow 

Hides  the  heaviest  wheat  of  all. 

If  you  cannot  in  the  conflict 

Prove  yourself  a  soldier  true, 
If,  where  fire  and  smoke  are  thickest, 

There's  no  work  for  you  to  do. 
When  the  battle-field  is  silent, 

You  can  go  with  careful  tread; 
You  can  bear  away  the  wounded, 

You  can  cover  up  the  dead. 

Do  not  then  stand  idly  waiting 

For  some  greater  work  to  do, 
Fortune  is  a  lazy  goddess, 

She  will  never  come  to  you; 
Go  and  toil  in  any  vineyard, 

Do  not  fear  to  do  and  dare, 
If  you  want  a  field  of  labor, 

You  can  find  it  anywhere. 


ANNUALS   AND   ACORNS 

He  plants  an  annual,  you  plant  an  acorn, 

Both  will  be  beautiful,  by  and  by; 
Sealed  in   their   sepulchres,    veiled  from   your 
vision, 

Alike  for  a  little  while  they  lie. 
Softly  the  sunlight  will  fall  where  they  slumber, 

On  them  will  filter  the  rain  and  dew; 
Standing  together,  you  look  where  you  laid  them ; 

Counting  the  moons  as  the  Indians  do. 

A  brief  waiting  only;  the  brown  earth  will  open, 

Up  from  its  grave  will  the  annual  rise; 
He  who  is  standing  so  patient  beside  you, 

Will  look  at  his  treasure  with  joy  in  his  eyes. 
He'll  pluck  a  gay  blossom  to  wear  in  his  bosom, 

Its  beauty  and  fragrance  will  please  him  an 

hour; 
The  seed  that  he  planted  has  come  to  perfection, 

Not  long  did  he  wait  for  his  fair  little  flower. 

Now  what  will  you  do,  for  your  acorn  grows 

slowly, 

So  slow  that  its  growth  must  be  counted  by 
years ; 

i75 


176  Annuals  and  Acorns 

There's  no  one  to  praise  it,  and  more  and  more 

lowly, 
You  grow  as  you  water  the  plant  with  your 

tears ; 
You  know  that  its  roots  are  in  league  with  the 

granite, 
You  know  that  its  branches  will  seek  for  the 

sky; 
But  O  the  long  strain  on  your  faith  and  your 

patience ! 
Your  hair  is  like  silver,  the  years  hurry  by. 

At  last  you  lie  down  in  your  life's  western  cham 
ber, 

All  watching  is  over,  your  hope  has  come  true ; 
And    smiling    you    look    at    the    mighty  oak 

branches, 

Now  waving  between  the  red  sunset  and  you. 
O  what  was  the  waiting,  and  what  was  the  weep 
ing! 
Now,  now  that  the  day  of  your  crowning  has 

come, 

For  in  the  near  Heaven  are  many  tongues  crying, 
"Thou  planter  of  acorns,  well  done  and  well 
done!" 


THE  GRAPES  OF  ESCHOL 

Among  the  tribes,  the  weary  tribes,  we  wander; 

The  way  is  long,  complainings  fill  the  air; 
With  God  so  near,  we  fear  the  kings  of  Edom, 

By  smitten  rocks  we  yield  us  to  despair. 
The  seas  gape  wide  and  make  for  us  a  pathway, 

We  hear  the  cry  of  Pharaoh's  drowning  host, 
But  mists  roll  up,  there's  discord  and  confusion, 

And  far  away  is  Canaan's  peaceful  coast. 

Then  do  we  see  that  walking  close  beside  us, 

With  steady  step,  and  eyes  that  onward  look, 
Are  those  who  went  before  us  to  that  country, 
And  brought  us  grapes  from  Eschol's  wondrous 

brook ; 

Their  faces  shine,  their  lips  are  always  singing, 
The  winds  of  Canaan  have  their  foreheads 

fanned, 
Alike  to  them  are  sunrise  and  sunsetting, 

Their  feet  make  haste,  they  have  beheld  the 
land! 

O  thanks  and  thanks,  a  thousand  times  repeated ! 

We  know  your  names,  ye  valiant,  faithful  few; 
Your  lowest  words  are  sweet  as  Heavenly  music, 

Ye  searched  the  land  out  better  than  ye  knew. 

12  177 


1 78  The  Grapes  of  Eschol 

When  through  the  camp  there  rings  a  cry  for 
"Egypt," 

And  all  our  tribes  sway  backward  in  despair, 
We  turn  to  you  who  bear  the  purple  clusters, 

For  still  ye  say  "Surely  the  land  is  fair." 

We  pray  you,  friends,  walk  closer  still  beside  us; 

Talk  to  us  often  of  the  way  ye  took, 
When  ye  beheld  the  citrons  and  pomegranate, 

And  plucked  the  grapes  that  grew  by  Eschol' s 

brook. 
If  doubts,  like  evil  birds,  fly  on  before  us, 

And  clouds  obscure  the  path  that  must  be  trod, 
Speak  low  to  us  of  Sinai  and  its  thunder, 

Repeat  the  name  of  Israel's  mighty  God. 


BEAUTIFUL  HANDS 

Such  beautiful,  beautiful  hands! 

Not  wondrous  white  nor  small, 
And  you,  I  know,  would  scarcely  say 

That  they  were  fair  at  all. 
I've  looked  on  hands,  whose  form  and  hue 

A  sculptor's  dream  might  be; 
Yet  are  these  aged,  wrinkled  hands 

More  beautiful  to  me. 

Such  beautiful,  beautiful  hands! 

Though  heart  were  weary  and  sad, 
These  patient  hands  kept  toiling  on, 

That  the  children  might  be  glad. 
And  I  could  weep,  as  looking  back 

To  childhood's  distant  day, 
I  think  how  these  hands  rested  not, 

When  mine  were  at  their  play. 

Such  beautiful,  beautiful  hands ! 

They're  growing  feeble  now, 
For  time  and  pain  have  left  their  mark 

On  hand  and  heart  and  brow. 
179 


i8o  Beautiful  Hands 

Alas !  alas !  the  nearing  time 
And  the  lonesome  day  for  me, 

When  'neath  the  grasses,  out  of  sight, 
These  hands  will  folded  be. 

But  far  beyond  this  shadow-land, — 

And  many  a  friend  is  there — 
I  know  full  well,  these  dear  old  hands 

Will  palms  of  victory  bear ! 
Where  crystal  streams,  eternally 

Flow  over  golden  sands, 
And  where  the  old  are  young  again 

I'll  clasp  my  mother's  hands! 


MY  MOTHER'S  PICTURE 

How  many  times,  as  through  the  room  I  hasten, 
Without  a  thought  of  other  days  at  all, 

I  lift  my  eyes,  and  straightway  I  am  standing 
Before  her  picture,  hanging  on  the  wall. 

Almost  it  seems  her  pleasant  voice  is  calling, 
And  I  am  fain  to  answer,  "yes,  I  hear, 

All  earthly  sounds  shall  be  to  me  as  silence, 
If  you  will  speak,  O  mother,  mother  dear." 

No  answer  comes,  I  hush  my  breath  to  listen, 
But  still  the  eyes  with  patient,  steadfast  gaze, 

Look  into  mine;  they  pierce  through  flesh  and 

spirit. 
I  bow  my  head  and  blush  beneath  their  rays. 

For  she  is  wise  with  wisdom  that  appalls  me, 
The  solemn  secrets  of  the  grave  she  knows, 

And  high  above,  by  God's  own  hand  uplifted, 
Through  wondrous  ways  of  His  own  Heaven 
she  goes. 

Beyond  all  change,  and  safe  from  time's  mutation, 
And  grieved  no  more  by  earth's  forlorn  com 
plaints, 

181 


1 82  My  Mother's  Picture 

Thou  pictured  face,  dim  semblance  of  my  mother, 
How  dost  thou  look  among  the  crowned  saints  ? 

So  far!  so  far!    Once,  if  I  faintly  called  you, 
Or  laughed,  or  wept,  you  were  so  quick  to 
know; 

All  else  might  fail,  my  mother's  love  was  certain, 
Now,  dying  e'en,  your  touch  I  must  forego. 

Thou  there,  I  here,  and  I  know  not  what  spaces 
Beyond  the  grave's  green  width  divide  us  two; 

Nor  of  the  times  unnoticed  and  unnumbered, 
That  must  go  o'er  me  ere  I  look  on  you. 

But  I  am  coming,  I  shall  find  you,  mother; 

Sometime,  somewhere,  when  His  great  will  is 

done, 
And  I  am  fit  to  stand  once  more  beside  you, 

To  your  high  place  I  shall  have  leave  to  come. 


MY  CHILD 

0  thou  great  world !  so  full  of  lights  and  shadows, 
Of  doubts  and  fears,  of  hopes  that  wax  and 

wane, 
Of  lonely  deserts  and  of  green  oases, 

Of  mirth  and  music,  bitter  tears  and  pain ; 

1  look  far  off  adown  thy  tangled  mazes, 

But  mists  are  floating  and  the  clouds  are  piled, 
And  I  can  stand  upon  no  mount  of  vision, 
To  trace  the  pathway  of  my  little  child. 

I  pray  thee,  World,  deal  kindly  with  her  ever, 

And  do  not  fright  her  in  her  tender  years! 
Hold  back  thy  storms,  let  them  not  beat  upon  her, 

Dim  not  too  soon  these  soulful  eyes  with  tears. 
If  far  away  among  the  dim  to-morrows, 

Dead  leaves  are  rustling  where  her  feet  must 

tread, 
Let  all  thy  breezes  prophesy  of  summer, 

And  all  thy  birds  sing  joyful  overhead. 

Angels  of  God,  pitch  your  white  tents  above  her! 

And  let  her  feel,  whate'er  the  future  brings, 
That  all  the  air  is  throbbing  with  your  presence ! 

And  when  the  evening,  o'er  her  pathway  flings 
183 


1 84  My  Child 

Shade  after  shade,  still  walking  close  beside  her, 
Let  your  "Praise  God"  ring  out  so  loud  and 
clear, — 

A  hymn  of  Heaven  among  the  earthly  noises, — 
That  all  her  soul  shall  hush  itself  to  hear. 

Thou  Sword  of  Truth,  flash  night  and  day  before 
her! 

Should  falsehood  weave  its  meshes  for  her  feet, 
Should  poison  fruitage  hang  alluring  o'er  her, 

And  lying  voices  bid  her  pluck  and  eat ; 
Then  thou  good  Sword,  flash  swift  through  all 
disguises, 

Point  out  the  place  where  error  lies  concealed , 
And  O,  to  win  the  soul's  immortal  prizes, 

Strike  thou  for  her  on  life's  great  battle-field ! 

Thou  King  of  kings,  Jesus,  Thou  son  of  Mary! 

As  once  of  old,  Judean  mothers  came, 
Bringing  their  children,  praying  Thee  to  bless 
them, 

So  come  I  now,  my  errand  is  the  same; 
In  arms  of  faith  I  hold  her  up  before  Thee, 

The  world,  O  Lord !  how  wide  it  is  and  wild ! 
What  can  she  do?     How  can  she  live  without 
Thee? 

With  all  Thy  blessings,  bless  my  little  child! 


"LINCOLN  HAS  FALLEN!" 

Lincoln  has  fallen ! 
Toll  it,  ye  bells,  over  valleys  and  mountains; 

Wail  it,  ye  winds,  as  ye  sweep  on  your  way; 
Moan  it  in  sadness,  lakes,  rivers,  and  fountains ; 

And  all  ye  blue  waves,  on  the  beaches  at  play, 
Bear  it  over  the  sea — a  most  terrible  burden; 

Oh,  never  before  such  a  tale  did  ye  tell; 
The  tempest  was  spent,  and  at  hand  was  the 
guerdon, 

When  out  of  a  clear  sky,  this  thunderbolt  fell ! 

Lincoln  has  fallen ! 
With  his  hand  on  the  wheel,  while  the  wild  storm 

was  beating, 
How  firmly  he  stood,  with  his  calm,  patient 

face 

Lifted  up  to  the  sky,  as  ever  entreating 
The  Lord  of  the  tempest,  to  lend  him  His 

grace. 
All   around  him  the  leaden  hail  rattled,   and 

loudly, 
And  wild,  o'er  the  deck,  swept  the  breath  of 

the  gale; 

And  we  looked  on  our  pilot  so  gladly  and  proudly, 
But  see!  here  he  lies  to-day,  helpless  and  pale. 
185 


1 86  " Lincoln  Has  Fallen!" 

Lincoln  has  fallen! 
For  the  old  flag  he  died :  we  will  wrap  it  around 

him! 

He  died  for  the  truth;  deeply  traced  on  his  soul 
Was  the  law  of  the  Lord,  and  He  surely  will 

crown  him 

A  King,  while  the  years  of  eternity  roll. 
O  "People  that  prayed  for  him,"  tenderly  take 

him; 
O  "state  that  he  loved, "  let  him  sleep  on  your 

breast ; 
Though  hearts  break  within  us,  we  cannot  awake 

him; 

Tread  lightly,  speak  low — let  the  President 
rest! 


IS  YOUR  LAMP  BURNING? 

Say,  is  your  lamp  burning,  my  brother? 

I  pray  you,  look  quickly  and  see; 
For  if  it  were  burning,  then  surely, 

Some  beam  would  fall  bright  over  me. 
There  are  many  and  many  around  you, 

Who  follow  wherever  you  go; 
If  you  knew  that  they  walked  in  the  shadow, 

Your  lamp  would  burn  brighter,  I  know. 

Upon  the  dark  mountains  they  stumble; 

They  are  bruised  on  the  rocks,  and  they  lie 
With  white,  pleading  faces,  turned  upward, 

To -the  stars  in  the  pitiful  sky. 
There  is  many  a  lamp  that  is  lighted, 

We  behold  them  anear  and  afar, 
But  not  many  among  them,  my  brother, 

Shine  steadily  on,  like  a  star. 

If  once  all  the  lamps  that  are  lighted 

Should  steadily  blaze  in  a  line, 
Wide  over  the  land  and  the  ocean 

A  girdle  of  glory  would  shine ! 
The  darkest  of  places  would  brighten; 

The  mists  would  roll  up  and  away, 
And  Earth  would  laugh  out  in  her  gladness, 

To  hail  the  millennial  day ! 
187 


SOMEBODY'S  WORKING  FOR 
SOMEBODY 

The  times  are  hard,  the  world  is  cold, 
There's  lust  for  power,  there's  greed  for  gold, 
And  hearts  are  bought,  and  hearts  are  sold — 
But  Somebody's  working  for  Somebody. 

In  lonely  places,  far  and  near, 
The  tangled  paths  to  smooth  and  clear, 
Unthanked,  unnoticed,  year  by  year, 
Somebody's  working  for  Somebody. 

And  eyes  may  weep,  and  arms  may  ache, 
And  hopes  may  die,  and  hearts  may  break, 
But  still,  for  Love's  unfailing  sake, 
Somebody's  working  for  Somebody. 

I  pray  you  say  these  plain  words  o'er, 
Repeat  them  oft  from  door  to  door, 
By  night  and  day,  on  sea  and  shore — 
Somebody's  working  for  Somebody. 


1 88 


"THE  MISTLETOE  BOUGH" 

Far  back  among  the  misty  years, 

I  heard  the  sweet  old  song; 
I  was  a  careless,  happy  child, 

Scarce  knowing  right  from  wrong ; 
But  O  the  tender,  mournful  words, 

That  through  the  twilight  rang; 
And  O  the  lady,  fair  and  tall, 

Who  sat  alone  and  sang ! 

She  charmed  me  with  her  lovely  voice; 

Her  hair  was  backward  blown ; 
She  sat  upon  a  doorstep  low, 

And  it  was  near  our  own; 
But  there  were  whisperings  in  the  air, 

She  was  not  "wise"  or  "good." 
No  little  child  might  speak  to  her 

In  that  fair  neighborhood ! 

How  strange  it  was!    I  looked  at  her, 

I  could  not  understand ; 
I  felt  so  far  apart  from  her, 

Yet  longed  to  take  her  hand. 
189 


"The  Mistletoe  Bough 


I  would  have  asked  about  the  song  : 
Where  was  the  "Castle  Hall"? 

And  what  the  "Holly  Branch,"  that  shone 
Against  the  "old,  oak  wall"? 

Where  is  she  now,  that  lady  fair, 

In  whom  no  child  might  trust? 
I  think  her  very  grave,  to-day, 

Is  leveled  in  the  dust. 
I  wish  that  I  had  gone  to  her, 

Not  knowing  right  or  wrong, 
And  laid  my  hands  on  hers,  and  said, 

"I  thank  you  for  the  song." 


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